


The Baking Angel

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe, Baking, Brotherhood, Fluff, Light-Hearted, M/M, Romance, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-08
Updated: 2010-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 11:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel and Gabriel have been running their bakeshop for thirty years, waiting for the Vessels to show and signal the end of the world. When the waiting ends, the two brother angels find their loyalties -- and their world -- changing. Romance, brotherly love, and a hefty dose of brown sugar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Croissants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two sets of brothers meet up again after ten years.

____spacer____

"Those are not for you."

Gabriel looked up from behind the bins, where he'd been happily scooping butterscotch chips into his mouth. He looked like a chipmunk, his cheeks full and lumpy with sweets. "Bwwff wff lfff thrrmr," he said.

Castiel rolled his eyes and crossed the kitchen. He'd long ago been smart enough to work Gabriel's scarfing of the supplies into their budget, but sometimes he just wished he had a ruler with which to slap his brother on the wrist. "If you would devote half the enthusiasm to baking that you do to eating our ingredients, we might make some money," he scolded.

"Um." Gabriel swallowed hard -- another mouthful down the drain, Castiel thought ruefully -- and strolled over. "In case you've forgotten, we don't actually need to make money. This is a front organization. A dummy company. We're incognito."

"That's no reason to waste resources."

"They're _butterscotch chips,_ Castiel." Gabriel exaggerated each syllable, forming ridiculous faces around the words just for impact.

Castiel looked at him through narrow eyes. "Plus," he said, "you're gaining weight."

"I am _not!_ Hey, you!" But he stole a look down at his gut and patted it carefully, looking more or less like a pregnant woman concerned for her baby's welfare. Castiel smirked and spread flour across the counter to roll more croissants.

The croissants were Castiel's favorite. Although The Baking Angel served all manner of sweets, breads, and other goodies, the cherub that hung on the sign in the small South Dakota bakeshop was kept company by croissant-shaped clouds, as white and fluffy as the confections themselves. To Castiel, they were the most angelic of pastries: weightless, powerful, and undeniably good. You could keep your cinnamon buns and chocolate cookies-- to him it was all about the croissants.

And the croissants were the real moneymakers. Nobody could believe, upon tasting them, that Castiel had not indeed been schooled in baking at the finest French patisseries. He hadn't. Gabriel had, but then again, before they'd been assigned to this outpost near the turn of the century, Gabriel had done a lot more than Castiel had ever wanted to.

The bakeshop idea had been Gabriel's. He'd just come back from France, and the first thing he did upon getting this assignment was lay in to Castiel about the amazing sense that was human taste. Once Castiel had sugar, Gabriel said, he'd never go back. It wasn't the sugar that finally hooked Castiel on the idea, though -- it was the process of baking. Gabriel showed him how to watch a loaf of bread rise, how to tell how much water dough needed before it was dry but not too dry, how to roll and cut perfect shapes, and Castiel's heart had opened to the experience. Mixing ingredients with vigor and care, watching them come together to become something more than what they were. A little bit of Creation every day. The truth was, watching bread rise or seeing pastry turn just golden enough around the crust... it made him feel closer to God.

And so began thirty years of rolling soft dough thin, mixing up butter with flour and sugar, tearing sheets of wax paper, and waiting.

____spacer____

  
It was good to be back in Sioux Falls. They'd been on the road for so long after Dad's death that a familiar face, a landscape and a town they'd visited before, was a relief. Sam and Dean Winchester had been through enough in the past few months to make a normal man mad. And considering how abnormal the two of them were, it was even more miraculous that they were still borderline sane.

Sam was having a nightmare in the passenger seat. It happened most nights. He still saw the disappearing figure of his girlfriend behind his closed eyelids, still called her name. Even though it had been a year and he'd learned to at least start to move on.

True that their lifestyle wasn't suited to lasting romance -- you took what you could before you had to go away again -- but for a long time Sam hadn't even seemed to notice girls. It worried Dean. Releasing tension was an important part of the life they led. If you couldn't hang back and get drunk or laid once in a while, you weren't likely to stay mentally healthy for long.

Of course, Dean himself had withdrawn since Dad's death. He and Sam had started this endless journey of theirs with the intent of finding their father; once they had him back, they'd lost him again within days, this time permanently. There didn't seem to be a point to anything anymore. Without Dad, there wasn't a quest. There was only Dean, trying to hold himself together. And that was hard to do when you had nothing to tie you down.

And when you knew you couldn't quite trust the family you had left.

Every time he looked at Sam, he remembered. He saw his father's face, heard the same terrible words.  He wasn't any closer to understanding them, either.

Now, as dawn broke and they entered city limits, Dean put a hand on Sam's knee. "Wake up. Sam, we're here." Sam snuffled and turned over, facing the window. Dean groaned and shook him harder. "Come on, Sammy. Rise and shine."

"Hmnmn... wake me up when we get to Bobby's."

"Ass." Dean slapped his arm. Sam winced and pouted at him. "I'm not dragging you up Bobby's front steps. We're stopping for coffee."

Sam peered through bleary eyes out the window as Dean pulled over to the side of the street. "Hey, isn't that...?"

Dean grinned. "Time for a blast from the past."

____spacer____

  
A cluster of silver bells rang as a pair of young men opened the rickety front door. Gabriel hurried to the front counter. "Hello, welcome to the Baking Angel. What can I do you for?"

The taller of the two came up to the counter. He seemed the type that was unsure of how to present himself, itching a bit in his own skin. "Yeah," he said, "we'll have two coffees and two croissants, please."

"A wise choice," Gabriel said with a pleased nod, but the smile was wiped off his face when he noticed the shorter of the two scowling at him. Sniffing, Gabriel shot him an equally scathing look and crouched to fish the croissants out of the display case, still peering up suspiciously.

"Is it just me," muttered the short one, "or do they look exactly the same as they did ten years ago?"

"Must be their kids, maybe?" The taller one shrugged. Catching Gabriel's gaze, he smiled nervously and explained, "We used to come in here with our dad."

And all avarice vanished from Gabriel's countenance. "Wait," he said, straightening up and snapping his fingers. "Don't tell me you're John Winchester's boys! Sam, and, what was it?"

"Dean," said the shorter one, raising a hand. His scowl had disappeared. "You remember us, huh?"

"Sure I do," Gabriel said. "You boys have grown!" He whistled and looked over his shoulder. "Hey, Castiel! Look who it --"

Castiel was standing with oven mitts on both hands, his apron covered with flour. He was staring at the new arrivals with a look of near-horror on his face.

"Pardon me a minute, guys," Gabriel said hurriedly, and put his arm around Castiel's shoulder, leading him back into the kitchen. "Cas. Snap out of it. What is the matter with you?"

"Them," Castiel said. "There's something about them."

"Like I said, they're John Winchester's kids. You remember, they used to be tiny, and John would bring them over to the corner table..."

"No." Castiel shook his head. "It's something else."

"Whatever." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Snap yourself back into reality and come out and say hello, would you? They remember you." He patted Castiel's shoulder a few times, coughed away the plume of flour that rose into the air, and rejoined the pair at the counter.

They were a good-looking pair of kids, Gabriel had to say. Dean, all bravado with a leather jacket and expressive eyes, and serious schoolboy Sam with a mop of unkempt copper hair and an incisive gaze. John had brought them in every so often, when they were up visiting friends in the area, and even though they weren't locals Gabriel had gotten to know John fairly well. He had an air of mystery to him that was always intriguing. And he tended to buy in bulk, as though he were going camping in Antarctica for the foreseeable future. Gabriel's lips twisted as he thought about John Winchester in ski goggles and a fur-lined hood, braving the frozen tundra with nothing but coffee and a dozen muffins for sustenance. He just seemed like that kind of guy.

When Castiel finally did come out front again, Sam had just handed over his credit card. Gabriel ran it through the machine  (it said Tommy Lee on it, but what was a little fraud among friends?) after sliding the bag across the counter. When he next looked up to hand over the receipt, Dean had a full mouth and a half-empty bag.

"Dude," Sam said, glancing at him. "Did you just eat that whole croissant?"

Dean held up one finger, working on swallowing the last mouthful. Smacking his lips, he grinned hugely. "It was good."

"That's disgusting," Sam said with a groan. "You have crumbs all over you. I bet you didn't even taste that."

Dean's collar was littered with flakes of pastry, and crumbs stuck to his lips and chin. For an instant Gabriel thought Castiel might have a coronary. He took such pride in his croissants, and here this guy had downed it like a fifty-cent snack cake, and Castiel wasn't so good with the social graces to begin with, and...

"If you like it that much," Castiel said, "have another one on the house."

Gabriel did a double-take. Were Castiel's eyes _sparkling_?

"Seriously?" Dean's face lit up. "Sweet!" He grinned at Castiel, and something seemed to spark in that instant. Castiel's cheeks filled with color, and he took another croissant in a folded sheet of wax paper and handed it over, smiling shyly the whole time.

"So, uh." Dean pursed his lips. "You made these?" He broke off a piece of crust from the second croissant and savored it. "They're kind of amazing." He leaned an elbow on the counter and plopped his hand on his fist, grinning like he was getting a massage, or something else equally pleasant.

Castiel's voice was still its usual, serious monotone, but he was smiling. This had to be the longest-lasting smile on record for him. "I'm glad you like them. They're my favorite to make."

"So what's your secret, then?"

"It's in the rolling," Castiel explained. He began to explain to Dean in great detail about how he crafted his fine artisan croissants, and Gabriel yawned loudly. Dean didn't seem like the baking type, but he was nodding and paying attention and even asking occasional questions. And Castiel was enjoying the attention. Holy smokes, was Castiel actually making a _friend_? They should declare a national holiday.

Sam, meanwhile, was looking at him through slit-narrow eyes. "So you really are the same guys who were here ten years ago? How's that possible? You guys can't be much older than we are."

"Baked goods, my friend," Gabriel said with a grin. "The secret to immortality."

Some time later, when the brothers Winchester had extricated themselves from the front counter and were chatting intensely over their croissants at a corner table, Castiel put a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "I need to talk to you," he said, and headed back into the kitchen.

"Now? But there's customers." But Castiel was already gone. Rubbing a thumb along the counter with a long sigh, Gabriel flashed a smile at the line. "I'm sorry folks, just a sec." He breezed through the doorway and came up an inch from Castiel's frowning face. "Whoa. Save the close encounters for your new boyfri--"

"It's them," Castiel said.

"What? What it? What them? Swear on my halo, Cas, sometimes you make no s--"

Then it occurred to him what Castiel meant. He blinked, and his jaw dropped.

"Dean and Sam Winchester," Castiel said. He was looking past Gabriel toward the doorway. "They're the ones.'

"Those yahoos?" His heart still pounding, Gabriel fought the urge to run away. He rolled his eyes. "No way. With all the people who have walked in and out of here, you think Mr. Bad Hair and Sir Eats-a-lot are our men? You've been frying fritters too long, Cas."

Castiel scowled at him. "My fritters aren't fried, they're baked," he said. "And I'm sure of it. It's them."

"I'm reserving judgment," Gabriel said with a circumspect frown. He walked back out front casually, but inside he was panicking. If Castiel was right, their whole lives could be turned upside down, and the world along with it.

That was the thing about a prophetic narrative. Once it was believed to be prophetic, it was self-fulfilling. And the story had been laid out for centuries: One of these days, it said, Lucifer would return, and there would be a fight to the death, and Paradise would be realized. The one catch: The fight would happen on the human plane, and the angels would be battling within human vessels.

The Vessels' birth had been highly anticipated, not just by angels but by demons and their ilk as well, for obvious reasons. Gabriel was not as enthused about it, and Castiel had no feelings on the matter one way or another, but there was obviously excitement in the firmament on the topic.

Gabriel had been larking about in the human world for quite a while now, and when he met up with Castiel again, it was just after a Parisian misadventure. Hence the bakeshop. Hence the somewhat cheeky name of it. And hence a good thirty-year stretch of waiting for the little runts to show their faces. Oh well. At least Gabriel kept mostly out of trouble. Castiel had been a little horrified to realize just how much killing he'd been doing, and for no other reason other than brotherly loyalty, Gabriel had stopped. Besides, as long as Cas kept him nice and sugared up, he didn't have quite the anger issues he used to.

But it looked like the closing chapter on that story was starting to be written. It had always been just a matter of time. Truth was, Gabriel knew it just as clearly as Castiel did. He just didn't want to acknowledge it.

Things were so good down here. Why ruin it with Paradise?


	2. Muffins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys come back, Dean goes to Heaven, and Gabriel encourages Castiel.

____spacer____

  
They returned the next morning, looking for coffee and sustenance. Gabriel watched, dismayed, as Castiel slipped an extra into the bag he handed Dean -- a tiny, perfect mini-scone sprinkled with soft specks of crystal sugar. Castiel caught Gabriel looking and frowned at him. Gabriel pretended to look elsewhere and eavesdropped just as hard as he possibly could.

"So, Castiel, huh?" Dean was saying. "Weird name."

"I was born on a Thursday," Castiel said, as if that explained everything.  He turned and gave a look to Gabriel that said, _you don't fool me a bit._

Gabriel scoffed. Eavesdropping was boring him already, anyway. He turned his attention to Sam, who was lingering by the side shelf, where soft loaves of fresh bread were stacked in pyramids of golden bricks.

"You know, I didn't actually expect to see you boys again," Gabriel said offhandedly.

"Disappointed?" Sam's smile was sardonic and a little bit biting. Gabriel felt like he'd been nipped at by a tiger cub.

He shrugged. "Your dad never came two days in a row. He blew in once a month, kept the two of you from climbing the walls, ordered a ton of food and then disappeared again." He peered past Sam toward the window. "Say, isn't that his car? I remember that thing." He whistled appreciatively. "Like something out of a TV show, that car."

Sam's eyes flickered toward the car, then back toward Gabriel. Something dark flashed in them between long-lashed blinks. "We'll be around for about a week," he said. "Then we'll be taking off again."

"That will be a shame." Gabriel didn't really think so. But he knew what you were supposed to say in polite company. Then again, why bother being polite? He was already starting to resent these two just for existing. He shouldn't be playing nice-nice with them.

Except... except... look how happy Castiel was. Damn it. Gabriel was so weak for little-brother smiles. They were so few and far between.

____spacer____

  
"No, see, so the thing is," Dean was saying, draped over the counter and nibbling on his mini-scone, "you shouldn't call this place the Baking Angel."

Castiel was patiently ignoring the essence-of-smirk that Gabriel was radiating at him like a wave of heat. "We shouldn't?"

"You should," Dean said, licking his fingers, "just call it Heaven."

Castiel's smile spread wide. "I'm glad you enjoy it here."

The expression had a peculiar effect on Dean. He drew up to his full height, pounded a little on his chest, and turned a weird shade of magenta. "Um. Yes. Well. Good food, you know."

Gabriel snickered. Castiel shot him a dirty look and turned back to Dean, his eyes full of light. "We try," he said quietly.

"Something about this place," Dean went on, his voice taking on the dreamy, rambling quality of a man who'd forgotten himself. "Makes me think everything's OK again, you know? None of that crap going on out there is real. What's in here is real. Just a pair of brothers and a bakery."

"That's exactly why I like it, too." Castiel was gazing at Dean's hand. He sounded just as dreamy.

Rolling his eyes and snorting, Gabriel hollered across the counter. "Castiel! Your muffins!"

"Oh!" Castiel bolted upright and hurried back to the kitchen. In his absence, Dean sniffed the air, which had grown fragrant with the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg. "I like it here," he informed Sam blithely, and settled down on the countertop again to watch through the doorway as Castiel retrieved a batch of golden-topped muffins from the oven.

"It _is_ a nice place," Sam commented.

"If you say so," Gabriel muttered. He sat down behind the counter and hid his head in a red binder full of financial forms he'd never made an effort to understand.

Sam laughed, a high, curious sound that irritated Gabriel even further. "Yesterday you were so enthusiastic," he said. "Why the turnaround?"

Shiiit. He'd nailed Gabriel to the wall on that one. "Enh," was the reply. Gabriel crossed his fingers and hoped Sam would just drop the subject.

No dice. "Seriously." The damn brat was grinning at him. Gabriel eyed him from over the top of the binder, increasingly wanting to pelt him with a ball of dough. "Is there something wrong? Because, no offense, you kind of look like it's the end of the world."

"It is," Gabriel snapped, "or it will be. Soon enough." He stood and slapped down the binder with a harrumph, stomping into the next room.

____spacer____

  
Dean thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

Seriously. There was no one, no one in the world, who appreciated good food the way he did. Sam could save his garbage about being polite and not leaving crumbs everywhere. Good food was meant to be devoured, to be wrapped up in lips and tongue and chewed and gnawed and swallowed until you were fat and full and happy and satisfied. If it weren't for their job, Dean thought he'd very likely be one of those three-hundred-pound tubs of lard that they did reality shows about. And he had a suspicion he might be very, very happy in that lifestyle.

Unfortunately, he and Sam very often didn't have time to eat. Or sleep, or take care of themselves in any other way. Too much running, too much fighting, too many secret things that the rest of the world lived in blissful ignorance of. But this place, this Baking Angel, was enough to make him want to believe in God. It wasn't just the food, though, nor the intensely perfect way the sun shone in the windows in the morning to make everything seem a little more hopeful. Nor was it even the pastry itself, nor the warm bitter rush of coffee down his throat. It was the calm, insightful eyes that stared at him from behind the counter, the soothing rumble of the words as Castiel explained to him how he baked his creations. Dean thought that maybe he had a little bit of a mancrush. And he couldn't bring himself to really care or know better.

How long had it been since he felt this close and immediate a connection to another person? Since Dad died he'd lived in a haze of anger. All the business attending it -- the secrets and the lies and the deals with demons -- had kept him cooped up in a cage, climbing the walls he'd built himself, unable to see past the pain that clouded his eyes every day.

And then he'd entered this shop, and locked eyes with Castiel, and the clouds had parted and he'd seen a rainbow.

Too much of a gay metaphor, he thought to himself as he watched Castiel carefully remove plump muffins from a tray. But he was thinking less pride-parade and more Biblical-promise. Castiel's face said to him that things were going to get better, and Dean believed it.

"So what are those?" he hollered through the open doorway.

Castiel looked up, startled, and then smiled and cupped one confection in his hand. He came back through the doorway. "Apple muffins. Here, have one."

His fingers brushed Dean's as he handed over the muffin. Dean eyed it lustfully and sniffed at the soft scent wafting up through the air. "Dude. You're going to make me fat and lazy."

Castiel's smile was infectious. "Fat, maybe. I don't think I could make you lazy if I tried."

Dean looked at that smile and abruptly thought of one circumstance in which Castiel could make him very lazy indeed. Oh, God, he totally had a mancrush. But there was something about the way Castiel's neck stretched eagerly, his eyes devouring Dean's movements, that made Dean want to reach out and skim his fingers along the line of his collarbone. Something about the almost inhuman pink of his lips that made Dean want to taste them.

He took a bite of the muffin instead. The crumb top shattered around his mouth, and the soft flesh of the muffin gave easily, melting sugar and apple onto his tongue. He moaned. It tasted like a kiss.

____spacer____

  
Dishes piled up quickly in The Baking Angel. So every night, after they closed up shop, Gabriel washed and Castiel dried. Castiel liked the texture of the towel, the feelings of hard metal and stubbly cloth between his fingers. Gabriel liked quirky things like soap bubbles and splashing water in Castiel's face. It was a compatible arrangement. Every night for the past thirty years, they'd fallen into their places, washing and drying and chatting.

Tonight Gabriel started in with the splashing and the teasing even earlier than usual. "You've got a soft spot for him," he said.

Castiel studiously ignored him.

"Come on, admit it. You're soft on the guy. Don't make me splash you, Castiel. You don't like being wet."

"I'm not a cat," Castiel snapped back. But his eyes softened under Gabriel's good-natured, teasing gaze. "You mean Dean, don't you?"

"No, I mean the Queen of Sheba, of course I mean Dean!" Gabriel did splash him then, or tried, but Castiel saw it coming a mile away and dodged easily.

"You were the one who liked the Queen of Sheba."

Gabriel cackled. "You have a long memory. She was... adventurous."

A smile flickered across Castiel's face. "But you're right. I do like him."

"Hmm." Gabriel smiled sunnily. "Somehow I thought it'd be tougher to get that out of you."

"Why?"

"Never mind."

For a while there was no sound in the room but the clinking of glassware and the sloshing of dishwater.

"So I suppose we should tell them," Castiel said

"Hm?"

Castiel slung the towel over his shoulder. "We should tell our superiors. That we've found the Vessels."

Gabriel's mouth dropped open. "_No._ Why would you want to do a thing like that?"

Dark, curious eyes lifted in surprise. "It's our job."

"But... but you just met them. And you like him."

"How is that relevant?"

"Trust me." Gabriel turned off the faucet, came over and clapped a cold, wet, soapy hand on Castiel's back. Castiel shivered. "I've been dicking around on this plane a lot longer than you, Cassie. When you meet someone you like, you should get to know them. Take them out. Have coffee and doughnuts. Hold hands in the movie theater. But turning them over to your angelic overlords so they can start the end of the world? Not generally the best course of action."

Castiel stepped quickly out of Gabriel's grasp. Something was sending cold shudders through him, and it wasn't just the soak of Gabriel's handprint on the back of his shirt. "We were put down here to find the Vessels," he said sharply. "Now that we've found them, we should finish the job. Unless you're trying to avoid going home..."

For a moment, Gabriel's gaze flickered elsewhere, and his lip curled. But then he made a face. "Oh, please," he said. "Here's all I'm saying to you. We've been waiting thirty years for these jokers to show, right? What's another couple of days going to hurt? Just... enjoy yourself for a while. Do some smooching."

"Some _what_?" Castiel turned away quickly. His face was feeling uncommonly hot.

"Right. Whatever. Just give it a few days," Gabriel said. His tone was a little bit soft. "I think you'll be glad you did."  



	3. Coffee and Doughnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean gets a baking lesson and Sam gets punk'd.

____spacer____

  
Dean was always happiest when he was with his baby.

Sam didn't really like to watch, but he didn't have much of a choice in the matter. It was unseasonably cold out, and this was the only place to keep warm. Still. Listening to Dean sweet-talk his true love, watching her leak all over the place as he lay underneath her-- it was kind of gross. And Dean got really into it, too. One of these days, Sam was fairly sure he was actually going to try to have sex with that car.

"There we go, baby," Dean said, patting her rump as he slid out from beneath her. "All tuned up and looking gorgeous. Isn't she fine-looking, Sammy?" He grinned and grabbed a greasy towel to wipe off his face. "She'll hum nicely from now on."

Sam was sitting across the garage with a book in his hand, pretending not to notice Dean's babble. "Hmm," he said in his best _I'm not listening_ tone.

"Oh, don't be like that." Dean came over and peered over Sam's shoulder. The stench of perspiration and oil made Sam cough. "Whatcha readin'?"

"Nothing-- ahem-- nothing you'd like. You want to back off a bit?" Sam covered his mouth and nose with one hand.

"Sorry. Geez." Dean rolled his eyes. "Tell you what. I'm gonna go shower, then let's take her for a spin. We'll go out and get some eats."

The prospect of Dean showering was a huge relief. Sam smiled and snapped shut his book. "Where do you want to go?"

Dean muttered something inaudible.

"What was that?"

"I was thinking.. you know, we could head back to the Angel." Dean reddened.

"What, again? That's the third time this week, dude."

"I know, but..." Dean threw his hands in the air, all empty bravado and embarrassment.

"Dean." Sam suppressed a snicker. "You're crushing on him, aren't you? That guy Castiel."

"What? No. Jesus, I don't even like guys."

"But you like _him_."

"Shut up, Sam."

Sam sighed. "Look, you know we have to leave in a few days, right? We're going to be gone. We might not be back for weeks. Months, even."

"I know that!" Dean said, frustrated, running a greasy hand through his hair. "It's just... I like it there. I like the food, I like the atmosphere... and yeah, I like the people." He stomped away a few feet. "It just makes me feel good to be there."

Sam put a hand on Dean's shoulder, grease notwithstanding, tugging him in to talk to him face-to-face. "I'm just saying," he said. "I've never seen you act like this."

"Act like what?" Dean was still defensive.

"Like I acted when I met Jess," Sam said. "Like... like you're falling in love."

"Falling in what?" Dean sniffed. "Pfft. Like hell."

"You can't afford to, Dean."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean shoved him away, not quite hard enough to start a fight but enough that Sam looked down at his own chest in disbelief. "Jesus, Sammy. Who do you think pulled you out of college and into this line of work? I know the life we lead."

"You never had it," Sam said quietly. "You've never been in love, Dean. I'm kind of worried that one of these days you're going to fall so hard for someone you're going to lose all those street smarts and just be totally vulnerable."

"Stop psychoanalyzing me. Jesus!" He kicked over the garbage can near the door. The lid rolled a few feet, a coin on edge, then came down with a series of dramatic clatters. Dean waited for it to die down, then kicked it again, soundly. "Look, you want to go out or not? Because I'm going in the shower, then I'm going out to eat. You can come or you can stay."

Sam raised his hands, one open, one closed around his book. "Whatever you want," he said, keeping his face carefully neutral. But big worried eyes followed Dean as he turned and walked stiffly through the door.

____spacer____

  
Outside the garage, slender white hands trembled in the cold.

"It's them. No wonder." A sigh sent a puff of breath into the air. "I suppose I should talk to Castiel. He's always been reasonable enough to listen."

____spacer____

  
Gabriel was minding the store when Dean and Sam walked in. He gave a halfhearted wave to the two of them -- understandable considering a woman roughly the size and shape of an 18-wheeler was giving him what-for about the price of his scones. But still, he had the grin plastered on and was doing his best to remain his sunny, if somewhat snarky, self.

They waited in line and when the woman was finished with her truckload of complaints, Gabriel set eyes on the two of them like they were the sunshine at the end of a storm. "It's been crazy," he said. "How are you guys?"

"We're holding up. One of those days, huh?"

"If it wasn't, it'd be one of the other kind," Gabriel said, cheerfully. "It's the way the cookie crumbles."

"Hah!" Dean burst out. "Cookie crumbles... see, and you're in a bakery... never mind," he added hastily when Gabriel and Sam both fixed exasperated eyes on him.

"Right." Sam's eyes, bright and keen, surveyed the place. "Say, where's Cas? Don't usually see one of you without the other. "

"Castiel is.. well, he's working on something," Gabriel said. "He's set up camp in the back. It's, uh..." He eyed Sam apologetically. "It's kinda for him," he muttered, shrugging a shoulder in Dean's direction.

Sam's grin widened. "That's all right, then. I guess I'll just have to eat your doughnut for you, Dean."

"What?" Dean fixed him with the kind of look that a child gives when he realizes his favorite teddy bear is going to be taken away. Sam found this hysterical. Dean grumbled and walked around to the back of the counter.

"In there, baby Winchester," Gabriel said, grinning at him. Between his and Sam's obvious amusement, Dean had the creeps. He pulled his jacket tighter around his body, as though he were stepping into an icebox instead of a kitchen, and headed through the open doorway.

He'd never been inside a bakery's kitchen before, and he'd barely ever been in any other kind of kitchen, either. Life on the road was about ramen noodles and convenience-store microwaves. The day Dean actually cooked a meal would be the day hell froze over and pigs flew like bullets across the sky. And now here he was, and he was downright intrigued.

Castiel was standing at the far table, frowning critically at a cluster of tools and utensils and a monstrous lump of dough next to a big silver bowl. Dean approached. "Cas," he said by way of greeting, not sure what kind of a greeting was expected of him either. Was this some sort of a demonstration, or did Cas just want to talk to him in private, or what? He was at a loss.

A second later, Cas' eyes lifted to meet him, and Dean was set completely at ease.

"I thought you might like to help me. Since you seemed so interested in how I made croissants the other day. Are you interested in baking?" His enthusiasm didn't come through in his voice, but it was there in his eyes, as intense as anything. Castiel was relishing the prospect of having Dean in the kitchen with him. That sort of unguarded excitement set Dean off. It didn't make sense that anyone should feel that way about him. Especially where domestic tasks were concerned.

He looked around. "Gee, man, I don't know. I think I might burn things. Or freeze them. Whatever it'll be, it'll be wrong." He chuckled halfheartedly.  Castiel's face fell, and Dean hurried to correct himself. "I mean, if you want me to try, sure. But I don't know what'll happen to your..." He inhaled, then took another deep breath, gauging the scent. "Dude. What are you making?"

"Doughnuts," Castiel said simply.

Dean's eyes widened. "Doughnuts? Seriously?"

A bit of amusement twitched in Castiel's upper lip. "Yes."

Well, why didn't you say so?" Dean rolled up his sleeves. "Let's get to work!"

____spacer____

  
The silver bowl turned out to be full of oil, and Dean wrinkled his nose when he realized that's what went into making each doughnut. But they did have to fry, and _his _baby didn't work without a lot of grease either. So he hurried up and got used to the idea. "Must be hard to keep your hands clean," he commented.

"If my hands are clean, I'm not doing my job properly," Castiel replied. As though to prove his point, he dug flour-covered hands into the pile of dough and pulled out a heavy chunk.

"You sound like a mechanic." Dean crossed to the sink and washed his hands. He knew to do that much. "What should I do?"

"Dip your hands in flour, and take about a fist-sized chunk of dough. Is that what you are? A mechanic?"

"Yeah." It was a well-practiced lie. "You know the Singer lot up on the hill? That's our pal Bobby. We're staying with him awhile, doing work there. Then we're heading back out of town." He mimicked Castiel's movements, rolling out the dough with his palms and then looping it into a thick circle.

Castiel pulled a frying pan from a hook on the wall and carefully ladled oil into it. "I wouldn't think you'd be on the road a lot, as a mechanic."

"Kidding me? That's the only place to be. That's where the cars are." He followed Castiel to the stovetop, looking at everything as he went. "Hey, how funny it is that the oven says fireproof on the side? Why would you make an oven fireproof?" 

"In case the kitchen catches fire."

"Yeah, but you don't think that's funny? The oven? Come on, man." Dean was apparently batting zero with the humor today.

"Sorry. I have to concentrate," Castiel said, his eyes narrowed to slits as he carefully set the pan onto the stove and turned on the burner. Before long the oil was popping in the pan in great bursts. "Watch your eyes," he warned. "I can't imagine living on the road. I've been here so long, I feel like if I ever had to leave, it'd be like tearing my heart out."

"Yeah." Dean watched him drop the doughnuts into the frying oil. He was starting to feel that way too, about this place. If only there were a Baking Angel in every town they visited, with a Castiel standing there at the counter with a patient, serious face and sharp eyes.  Then every place would feel like home. Then, perhaps, he wouldn't still be holding onto this weird unshakable dream of a place that could be more permanent, more his, than a car and a motel room. Being at Bobby's intensified that feeling. But it wasn't in the cards. He wasn't cut out for it.

"You look sad."

"Do I?" Dean straightened up. "Just thinking." He grabbed another hunk of dough and began kneading it, almost viciously. "You and your brother versus me and mine. Sort of the same, aren't we? You're the serious one, like Sam, and I'm the one who can't take anything seriously."

"You've pegged Gabriel," Castiel said. "But I think you're more serious than you like to admit."

"Depends on what I'm being serious about." Dean shot him a grin.

The doughnuts were practically hopping in the pan now, and Castiel fished them out one by one with a quick spatula and pair of tongs, laying them on a rack to cool. "And what are you serious about?" he asked.

Dean came to the stove to watch him work. His fingers fluttered against the counter, flirting with the idea of touching Castiel. "Doughnuts," he murmured. "I'm deadly serious about doughnuts."

Castiel looked up at him. "So am I," he said. There was a light in his eyes.

Dumbstruck, Dean just stared at him. They were ridiculously close. He could see Castiel's gaze drop momentarily. Could see his lip tremble. The urge came then, sudden and so strong it nearly knocked Dean from his feet. He could lean in, right now. He could kiss him. He _wanted_ to kiss him.

Sam hadn't been so far off the mark this morning, after all. This wasn't a mancrush. This was a just plain crush.

_Well_, he thought dumbly. _Who knew. You live long enough, you experience new things._

And then he remembered why he was still living, and his heart tightened, and he turned away.

"Dean?"

A hand on his shoulder. Oh, God, was he going to get all junior-high every time Castiel touched him? Because that was going to get hard to handle.

"I'm sorry," he said, allowing himself to turn back to face him. "Our dad died a couple months back, and I--"

"Oh." Castiel's face was white. "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's cool." It wasn't cool, it was far from cool, and Dean was the one who had to be sorry. But Cas didn't need to know that. He forced a tight-lipped smile.

Cas hung back and looked at him for a minute. Finally he turned back to the drying rack. "Do you want to taste one?" he said. "They should be cool enough now."

"You got coffee?"

"Hm?"

"Can't have doughnuts without coffee, man. Hang on, I'll be right back." Dean turned tail and headed back to the front of the shop. By the time he got back with two cups of coffee, he'd have his shit together again. Castiel, coffee, and doughnuts were too good of a combination to spoil with any of the rampant crap running through his life. He just had to clear his head.

But once he was through the doorway, Dean skidded to a quick halt. Sam was sitting at a table, his face the color of a ripe strawberry. He was glugging down water as fast as he could and staring daggers at Gabriel, who was in the corner, laughing so hard the sound had stopped coming out and he was breathless, his mouth plastered into a huge grin, shoulders shaking and tears streaming from his eyes.

"What the hell happened here?" Dean said, coming to Sam's side.

"He told me..." Sam coughed hard. His eyes were watering, too, for a different reason. "He said it was mocha powder. For the coffee--"

In the corner, Gabriel let out a giddy, breathless wheeze.

Dean stared at him. "What the--" He picked up the open canister sitting near Sam's coffee cup, sniffed it, and promptly sneezed. "Dude." He couldn't help a snicker. "This is black pepper."

"_Now_ I know that," Sam said, wiping his eyes.

"Aw, man." Dean burst into a loud laugh. "You should see your face, Sammy!"

"You're both _six_," Sam said, as disdainfully as he could, and burst into another series of coughs. Dean caught Gabriel's eye and gave him a thumbs up. Gabriel nodded appreciatively.

This was the sort of thing they should be doing, Dean thought as he went to pour two pepper-free cups of coffee. Playing stupid jokes on each other, screwing around at coffee shops, stopping to enjoy their lives instead of constantly putting them in danger. This was normal. Why in the hell did they have to be what they were?

Because of what Dad had said, he reminded himself. Because of Sam. Because of something following them that they couldn't explain or define. They just had to keep moving. It's what hunters did.  



	4. Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel has a visitor, Sam thinks a lot, and Dean is in the kitchen again.

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Sunday morning was the busiest morning of the week. Before the local churches began their services, The Baking Angel was packed with the very finest of Sioux Falls society. Dressed up to the nines, with hats towering to the ceiling, they came in and gulped down coffee in the hopes it would help keep them alert during the lullaby of that morning's sermon. Ties were loosened and shirts untucked as sinners indulged in high fat and cholesterol before confessional absolved them of the calories. Then, after church got out, there was another wave of chatting crowds. All generations, grandmas to toddlers, came in feeling closer to God and ready for a taste of sweet sugar.

There was that time in between, though, when the cafe was silent. Between the pre-church and after-church crowds, while mass was going on, they had no customers. "Ironic, isn't it," Gabriel pointed out once in a while, "that we're the only ones not at church on a Sunday?"

"There's that Jewish man who lives on Pine," Castiel would say, and Gabriel would pooh at him and accuse him of having no sense of humor.  
   
But it was a good opportunity for some rare down time. Gabriel would wipe down the tables and hum to himself, and Castiel would sit in the back and do the week's accounting. The math reminded him that everything was, in the end, just a calculation. Black and white, following the laws of the physical world. Only Creation, only God, was beyond his comprehension. Everything else could be figured out.

He wasn't feeling that way today. He looked at the numbers and thought to himself that the axioms beneath them didn't seem nearly as stable as they usually did. The bottom line was this: They were here to find the Vessels. Once they'd found them they were to report back to their superiors, and that was the end of the story. No more bakeshop, no more customers. They'd just blow off the face of the earth and nobody would ever know where they disappeared to. Their job wasn't to be custodians of the peace of mind of the humans they knew. They had a mission. The only ambiguity had been when the Vessels would actually appear. And now that that question had been answered, everything should be laid out as simply as a multiplication problem.

It wasn't. It wasn't at all. He kept hearing Gabriel's voice encouraging him to take his time. And he kept seeing Dean Winchester's face. And nothing seemed clear at all.

"Castiel."

He turned. It wasn't a voice he'd heard in many, many years.

She filled the room with her presence, all flaming red hair and long, white limbs. She looked nearly as glorious as she did in her true form, and Castiel stood and walked toward her, warmth in his eyes. "Anna."

"I'm not here on a social call, Castiel," she warned, and he remembered what had made her not just beautiful but formidable back in the days they'd fought together. Her face was a crisscross of severe lines. "I've been watching you. I know."

A twinge went through Castiel's heart. So it was to be decided for them. He didn't have to decide when to turn the Vessels over, after all. Anna was here for them. "I'm glad they sent you," he said with some relief. "I was worried..."

"They didn't send me," she said, and her tone betrayed an urgency he hadn't seen from her. Perhaps this form was not just her way of saving the entire kitchen from destruction. Perhaps...

He didn't have another _perhaps._ He had no explanation for what she'd just said. And then her words came, like a sledgehammer, and smashed a fracture into the already-battered walls of his reality.

"I've fallen."

He covered his mouth with his hands. Speechless, mindless, he just stared.

"Shocking, I know," she said. "But it's the truth. I'm stuck in this body. Graceless.  For doubting. For coming here to warn you."

"Warn me?" His words were still coming only haltingly. "Warn me of what?"

"That this whole thing, the apocalypse, the Vessels-- it doesn't have to happen."

"What?" She might as well have said two and two made three.

"It doesn't have to happen," she repeated. "If you can hide them, if you can protect them, the angels never have to know. If I were you, I'd fill this whole town with warding magic. Keep the others away."

"Anna." He crossed the room to her and touched her hand. "Why would you want this?"

"Because I've been human," she said. "I've been human, and I've felt things. Castiel..." Tears sprung to her eyes. "Destroying these people would be the most foolish thing in the universe. God loves these creations. Loves them more than He loves us. That's why Lucifer fell. It's what started this whole thing. Do you really think it is His will to destroy them?"

He was seized with the urge to dry her tears. "You're not talking about Him loving them. You're talking about you."

"And you, too. Castiel, look into your heart." She clasped his hand. "I don't have the power to fight this. But you do."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He jerked his hand back. "You were always much more powerful than I."

"It's not that kind of power," Anna said. "It's something else. Bind this town, Cas." The familiar nickname sounded strange in her voice, and for the first time he could believe she was human. "Bind it and keep those two from leaving. As long as they're here, they will be safe."

Outside, the revving of motors warned that the town was about to come back to life. Anna kissed Castiel on the cheek. "Please," she whispered, and walked to the back door. Castiel watched her go, sure that all the axioms that lay beneath the structure of his life had been tossed aside. Nothing made sense anymore.

____spacer____

  
Dean was in the kitchen.

This in itself was a revelation. The grocery bags on the counter were just further proof that something extremely weird was going on.

Sam came downstairs with his arms in the air, halfway through a yawn. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, squinted, and still failed to comprehend the concept of Dean in a kitchen. At all.

"Good morning, Sammy!" Dean looked up, beaming. "You slept late this morning. Kinda surprised."

"_You're_ surprised?" Sam rubbed the back of his neck, massaging out the kinks. He descended into the kitchen and looked around. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like? I'm making sandwiches."

He was surrounded by all the fixings that made a deli counter what it was. Slabs of meat, hunks of yellow and orange cheese, a long loaf of bread with the soft white slices arranged in a fan across the countertop. A jar of mustard sat open with a yellow-daubed knife lying across its rim. Lettuce crinkled brightly in a plastic bag.

Sam walked up to the counter and had a long look at the contents. "Um... okay." He reached for one of the sandwiches, and Dean batted at his hand.

"Not for you." The scowl of a schoolmarm.

"What, you're going to eat them all yourself?"

"No, dumbass." Dean fixed him with an _are you stupid?_ look. And then, weirdly enough, he sort of withered. Bunching his shoulders together, he avoided Sam's gaze and, almost shyly, said, "They're for Cas, OK? I figured, since he's usually the guy who makes everything, I'd make something for him. Just because."

"Dean." The smile had gone out of Sam's face the minute Dean had said Castiel's name. Now, his jaw set and his hand closed into a fist on the counter.

"Shut up, yeah, I know." His tone was blustery, but Dean looked supremely unsure of himself. He glanced out the window.

Sam huffed a sigh. "Look, I'm saying it for your sake. We're still leaving town. Right?"

"Well, can you blame me?" Dean recapped the mustard and tossed the dirty knife in the sink. "I don't know, Sammy. For the first time since Dad died I'm feeling OK about life, you know? Like something's worth doing."

"I thought the hunt was worth doing. Dean, you're the one who was so anxious to go."

Dean set the jar in the fridge, closed the door and leaned against it heavily. "I was. I am. I just..." His lips twisted to one side, bunching up in an uneven pucker. "One more day. Just, give it one more day. We can do that, can't we?"

"And what happens then?" Sam's voice was firm. "What happens after one more day? You bring the guy sandwiches, you spend more time with him, you get more attached, and then what? Will you need one more day after that? And then another?"

"I don't know!" Dean snapped at him, then drew back, biting his lip. "I don't know. I just... I don't want to leave. Not yet. Sam, you've got to understand."

Sam watched him move, watched the anxious way his weight bobbed from side to side, and exhaled. He couldn't think of the words to say. In the end, he just turned, grabbing his bag from the side table, and headed out the front door. He could hear Dean's footsteps behind him, but he didn't look back. He just had to get out of the house.

____spacer____

It was, of course, too late to keep the angels out.

Uriel watched Anna leave. He didn't much care for her, but he didn't begrudge her talking to Castiel, either. Let her do what she thought would keep him away. All he had to do was sit around and wait for the time to be right.

He'd originally started following her only because he wanted the credit for himself. So his superior officer thought she had a line on the Vessels. He would follow her, find them himself, and surely the glory would go to him. He hadn't expected her to rebel, much less find Castiel and try to convince him to rebel as well. Now he had all sorts of new motivation. He'd never liked Anna, and the chance to show her up completely and gain new respect among the Host? Too good to pass up.

Now he hovered just outside the bakeshop and tuned in to the conversation taking place there. Anna had done her job well. He'd never thought of Castiel as the rebellious type, but then again, Castiel had always been the good child, following orders because there were orders there to follow, never bothering to wonder what lay behind it all. If this meant Castiel would begin to grow up, that could be a good thing. Assuming Uriel let him live, of course.

Gabriel was in there too, and that gave Uriel a little more pause. Gabriel could end him with a whisper, if he ever got serious enough about doing so. But it was common knowledge by now that Gabriel wasn't terribly serious about doing anything, much less randomly killing angels. Uriel didn't have the time to waste fearing someone so capricious.

He would wait to see what they did now. If Castiel decided to rebel, it would be a laugh to get in his face. Uriel was in no hurry. He'd make the acquaintance of the Vessels soon enough. Right now, he was much more interested in satisfying his curiosity. Which way would the baking angels go? It was the sort of drama he relished watching unfold.

As Gabriel left the shop, and a familiar black car rolled up to the front curb, Uriel settled in for the long haul. It would be an entertaining sort of day.

____spacer____

The barn was a dingy shade of yellow, like one of those old fire trucks that'd been mottled by age and wear and now sat like a tossed-out tin of mustard atop the forgotten field. In earlier years, Sam would sit up in the loft on the second floor, writing out a few scraps of thoughts in a journal, but mostly just sitting. Thinking. Being alone, except for a flight of birds in the rafters.  Watching the sun set slowly through the cracks between the wooden slats.

The loft creaked more now that Sam had grown up, but it still held firm. And it still felt nostalgic, comfortable up there. The sight of the sunset was the same as it had always been, orange bleeding through the dull wood, familiar and unchanging. Some things were still constant, and Sam settled into the sort of reverie he reserved for this favorite, private place.

Dean was in love. It was pretty damn obvious. But Dean had never been in love, would never be in love. Not the way Sam had loved Jess. And here he was, falling harder than a ship's anchor, so convinced it could never happen to him that he didn't know how to fight it, didn't know how to keep his head above water. It was a mess, a king-sized, bloody mess, and it had bad scene written all over it.

How were they supposed to keep doing their job? How, when he was sure Dean would resist leaving?

A crash in the musty hay below perked him up, and he leaned over the edge of the loft to look down. Straw-colored hair was flying everywhere, as were curses. Sam's eyebrows flew up into his hairline. He grabbed the wooden railing and flipped himself over it in a single, swift motion, leaping down to the ground with an oof.

The mess of yellow hair flipped back, and Gabriel's sharp eyes met his.

Sam didn't know whether to laugh or just goggle at the sight of him there, all flying hair and messy hands. "What are you doing out here?"

"Doing?" Gabriel looked decidedly guilty. "What are _you_ doing out here?"

"Nothing, just thinking."

"Sure, sure, likely story." Gabriel pointed a finger at him. "Tell you what, I won't ask if you won't ask. Okay, Tin Man?"

Sam promptly forgot everything. His jaw dropped. "What... what did you just call me?"

Wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, Gabriel grinned and put one hand on his hip. "Tin Man," he repeated. "You know, you're eleven feet tall with these big long legs and these creaky joints..."

He walked a few steps, his arms swinging robotlike by his side, in a fair approximation of a man made of metal. Sam couldn't help but laugh. "Really? I walk like that?"

"More or less, yeah." Gabriel smirked.

"You've been paying a lot of attention to me, to come up with that."

The expression of triumph vanished from Gabriel's face. "No, I haven't. What... what the hell does that mean?"

"Nothing."

"Good." Gabriel reddened, and the look on his face made Sam vaguely uncomfortable himself. Silence hung in the air. A harvest mouse ran between Gabriel's feet and darted across the length of the barn, squeaking as it disappeared.

"Look, um..." Gabriel started and stopped again.

"Yeah?"

Sam watched a peculiar expression creep across Gabriel's face. "My brother's an idiot," he said, "but he's a good guy. He's trying." He took a breath and met Sam's eyes. "Don't... don't judge him too harshly, OK?"

He looked almost sheepish. A smile dawned on Sam's face. "I could say the same about mine."

Gabriel answered his smile. "They kind of deserve each other, don't they?"

"Yeah." Sam gave a short laugh. "Yeah, I think they do." He leaned against one of the wooden posts that held up the loft. The birds in the rafters were still fluttering about in a rush of song and noise. He grinned a sunny grin up at them.

"Which leaves us." Gabriel's voice was abrupt, blunt, too loud.

Sam shrugged. "I guess it does."

He could feel Gabriel's eyes on him, but Sam kept looking up at the rafters. He was a little afraid of what he'd see if he met Gabriel's gaze.

After another moment of silence, Gabriel turned around and kept rooting around in the hay. Sam climbed back up into the loft, aware of Gabriel's presence below him but not disturbed by it. Actually, it was oddly calming, knowing there was someone there who was just willing to let him be.

It wasn't until Gabriel headed for the exit that Sam decided to speak again. "Gabriel," he called out, and the name felt funny, unnatural, on his lips.

Gabriel turned. His gaze, all the way across the barn, bored into Sam's eyes.

"I come here sometimes. You know, just to think. So, if you need a place to think..."

The smile he got in return did funny things to his insides. "Thanks," Gabriel said.

Sam blushed. "Sure," he blustered. "Sure. No problem."

Gabriel raised a hand. "See you, Tin Man."

Leaning over the edge of the loft, Sam grinned at him. "Does that make you the Cowardly Lion?"

And Gabriel went red. "What? Heck, no!" he exclaimed before slamming the barn door shut. Sam collapsed into a heap of laughter.

____spacer____

Dean came into the Baking Angel one pointed finger first. "You," he boomed. "You're coming with me."

Castiel looked up from behind the counter, butter knife halting in midair. "What?"

"Call your brother. Where is he?" Dean propped himself up by his hands on the counter, feet leaving the floor, and leaned over the counter to holler into the back room. "Hey, Gabriel! I'm borrowing Cas. Get out here and mind the store."

The lady in front of the counter, who had been waiting patiently for her bagel, started to shift from foot to foot. Castiel reddened. "He isn't here. What is this about?"

"What do you mean he's not here? He's never not here."

Castiel refocused on spreading cream cheese on the bagel and avoided Dean's eyes as he hastily wrapped it in paper. "I mean he's not here. He's running an errand."

That had better be a good enough explanation for Dean, because Castiel wasn't about to tell him that the guy Dean thought was a harmless baker was actually out crafting some of the most powerful spells in existence, using magic even Castiel himself couldn't fathom. Time on earth had rendered him harmless-looking, but Gabriel was still an archangel, and the powers he wielded were truly formidable. It made Castiel a little nervous to think of them, to tell the truth.

He was lucky Gabriel had finally agreed to set the traps. He'd thought it would be easier to convince him than it was, considering Gabriel had been trying to convince Castiel to take it slow just a few nights ago. But Gabriel had given him the third degree, especially when he heard Anna had been by. Apparently he resented the fact that after he'd been riding Castiel to stand back from his destiny for so long, Anna could come in within five minutes and bring his brother around.

It wasn't just Anna, Castiel had told him. It was Gabriel, too, and quite honestly, it was Dean himself. Castiel had found himself unable to think of much else since he'd first come in and scarfed down that croissant like it was the be-all and end-all of existence. He'd spent all morning wondering if Dean would show up today. And now that he was here, Castiel found himself both giddy and anxious. It was an amazing, whirlwind feeling, and he wasn't used to it. It distracted him. So much so that now, he very nearly didn't hear Dean speaking to him. He gritted his teeth and refocused on the present.

"Well, when's he going to be back?" Dean was asking him. "Because we're going on a picnic."

"A picnic?"

"Sure. I even made food for you for a change. Well, just sandwiches. And I brought a cooler, some beers. It'll be fun. We'll just wait for him to come back."

The way he said it, the rakish grin and the devil-may-care gaze, made Castiel want to leap over the countertop and insist they leave right now. It wasn't an urge that he'd ever had before. He found it refreshing.

But he didn't. "Gabriel won't be back until later," he said mournfully. "And we're catering a meeting tomorrow, so I have to bake all evening long."

"Then call me when you're done and we'll go then." Dean grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and started scrawling his phone number.

Castiel blinked. "I'm going to be up until midnight."

"So?"

"You want to have a picnic in the middle of the night?"

"Sure! Why not? Do you need your beauty sleep?"

Castiel didn't require sleep at all. And if Dean kept looking at him like that, he didn't think he'd ever be able to sleep again. "Okay," he said, cringing at the shake in his voice. "I'll call."

Dean gave him a grin that seared itself into Castiel's brain. "You damn well better." He pressed the napkin into Cas' hand with his own. The grip lingered, and the grin faded. Castiel could feel his own blood zinging quick beneath his skin. It was a good thing he didn't actually need to breathe, because for several seconds, he forgot how.

____spacer____

It wasn't quite midnight when Castiel finally called. Gabriel was home shortly before closing, and the minute he heard Castiel admit (through a red face) that Dean has asked him out, he'd forcibly pushed him out of the kitchen. Castiel didn't dare resist. Gabriel was formidable even when he wasn't evidencing his otherworldly powers.

Dean came roaring up in the Impala that Castiel remembered seeing driven by his father. He wondered immediately how John had died, what on Earth had happened to bring the two of them back here. All pettiness, all insignificant. All that mattered was the way Dean was grinning from the driver's seat, window rolled down, saying, "Come on, don't just stand there, we're wasting moonlight."

Castiel eyed the car warily. "Does it still work?"

"What the hell does that mean, does it still work?" Dean looked mortally wounded. "It's in perfect condition."

"It's fifty years old."

"Closer to forty, and you're asking for it, you know." Dean frowned at him. In the darkness, he looked sort of like a demonic thing. Like Castiel ought to be afraid of him.

Castiel laughed at himself inside for even considering such an absurd possibility. "Fine," he said, with bravado that someone might surmise was Dean's influence at work. "Let's go."

He climbed in. Dean glanced at him, sized him up, as though seeing how well he fit there. "How was the catering-ish cooking-ish stuff?"

"Busy."

"You look happy."

"I'm always happy when I'm cooking."

"I shouldn't have torn you away, then?"

It was meant jokingly, but Castiel rounded on him. "Don't say that. I'm... I'm glad you called."

"Still, I'm impressed you can do so much in such a short time."

Well. That wasn't exactly the case. Gabriel had pushed him out of the kitchen. Still, Castiel wasn't about to tell him that. "I can do a lot."

"Oh?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

It was unwise, but Castiel couldn't resist the urge to try and impress him, or at least make him smile. "Well," he said, playing with the seatbelt strap, "I can fly."

Dean spat, he laughed so hard. "You're too funny."

"I'm dead serious." Castiel said it so deadpan that there was no chance he'd be taken seriously. But for an instant, Dean eyed him like he might just believe him. Like it wasn't a totally unprecedented thought.

Then they pulled onto the highway and Castiel lost track of anything but sheer, unadulterated terror.

____spacer____

For a minute-- _just _a minute, there -- Dean had entertained the idea that Castiel was more than met the eye. Bragging about how he could fly and stuff. But.. but he'd seen plenty of iron and silver implements in the kitchen the other day during their impromptu cooking lesson. Besides, what kind of fucked-up demon would open a shop called The Baking Angel, of all things?

And then the final proof came when Castiel gripped the passenger-side door, white-knuckled, and said, "You're going too fast."

Yeah. The guy was definitely one hundred percent human.

"There is nobody on the highway but us!" Dean said, and when he took his hands off the wheel to gesture at the empty road, Castiel jerked forward nervously. His eyes were huge, ever-blinking white eggs. It made Dean laugh. "You're too much, man," he said, shaking his head. "I can't figure you out."

"I don't want you to lose control of the vehicle," Castiel mumbled.

"Did you just say _vehicle_? Man." Dean chuckled again and flipped on the radio. The local classic rock station was pretty decent, and they had some Stones on now, old-school stuff but pretty good. He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, raised his voice in an off-key chorus. Castiel glanced at him, an expression of discomfort on his face.  Then he went back to staring out the window as though he were convinced they were going to die in a fiery crash.

"Jeez." Dean rolled his eyes. "You don't like the way I drive, you don't like my music... this isn't going to work out at all, is it?"

He hadn't thought it was possible, but Castiel lost even more color in his face. "Are you serious?" he said, and swallowed hard.

Dean laughed. "Of course I'm not serious. Would you relax?"

"I'm sorry." Castiel looked at his lap. "I think I'm nervous."

And then he froze up again -- this time because Dean had brushed his fingers against Castiel's leg gently. "Look," Dean said, feeling a mite shy himself. "I'm the one who asked you out, remember? I'm the one who's worried you're going to say something like that."

Castiel looked at him with something soft in his eyes. "I won't."

"Good." Dean turned down the music. "Then let's just enjoy."

____spacer____

The spot outside of town was at the top of a hill that overlooked the lights of the city. It was a perfect locale, but as they hiked up the hill toward it, the glimmer of the stars slowly faded beneath an obscuring patch of cloud. Wind rustled the trees at the base of the hill, and Dean was laying out the picnic blanket when a sudden gust gave them both the chills.

"Aw, geez." Dean looked up. "It's gonna rain. Isn't it?"

"Do you not want it to?"

"You gonna stop it?" Dean flashed him a grin.

Castiel's chin tilted up. "I could." He stepped forward.

Dean gave him a look that said _oh, this again. _"Right. I'd like to see you try."

For a few minutes Castiel just watched him set things out and unpack. He didn't do anything to back up his boast; this moment was too perfect to go uninterrupted. Something would eventually come-- be it the rain or the end of the world-- and upend everything he held so very tenuously in his hands. There would be time for action then.

If only that moment never had to come. If only Castiel could come out and say just what he really was, what Dean really was, what destiny was conspiring to tear all their expectations of normality to shreds. Maybe there was a chance they could stave it off, or run from it, or outwit the forces of Heaven in all their infinite knowledge. Maybe there was a chance he could avert the oncoming storm.

"Have a seat," Dean said, turning to look up at him.

Standing stock-still, paralyzed by the churning of his own thoughts, Castiel took a moment to recognize he was being spoken to. He shook himself out of it. "I'm sorry," he said, and moved to take a seat beside Dean on the blanket.

The sandwiches were overstuffed monstrosities that looked to be just up Dean's alley. Castiel might have made them differently himself, but that wasn't the point. This was a piece of Dean's personality, meat and cheese and lettuce layered with a thousand sauces, and the bread, he realized, was his own -- the loaf that they'd bought the other day on their way out. It felt like a compliment, and he beamed. "You recognize it, huh?" Dean nudged at him with an elbow. "Did you think I was gonna feed you sandwiches with Wonder Bread?"

"Never," Castiel said. He munched happily on thick layers of bread and fillings. He wanted to devour this piece of Dean as much as he did every other piece of him. He wanted to taste until his tongue couldn't stand any more. It was delirium, sensation to the point of mindlessness, and it was more than he'd felt in thirty years of being in this body. Contentment seeped through him. The world could spin on forever, if he could just stay here with Dean.

"You know," Dean said while he was still enjoying, "you're kind of a mysterious guy, Cas. I feel like I don't have any idea where you came from. Like you and Gabriel have just always been there behind that counter until we showed up. What's your story?"

Castiel stared at him a long, long time. He had the story of his life down pat -- he and Gabriel had told it over many, many years -- but he just didn't feel like lying to Dean any more than he had to. More than that, the question had been weighing on his mind for a while now. "It's nothing extraordinary," he said. "I'm sorry if I'm imposing, but I have to ask. What happened to your father?"

Dean's face went sober. "Car crash," he said. "Sam and I barely survived. Dad just... wasn't so lucky."

"Oh." Castiel's features darkened into a scowl. "He always seemed so resilient."

"He was." The bittersweet smile that lit Dean's face at that moment made Castiel ache in some very vulnerable place, somewhere between his body and his soul, where he hadn't thought to put up walls. "He protected his kids right to the end. Just before he died, he told me..." Dean shook himself. "Why am I opening my big mouth?"

Castiel leaned forward despite himself. "What?"

"Nothing." Dean ran one hand along the back of his scalp, ruffling his short crop of hair. "God, two minutes with you and I want to start pouring my heart out. You just have that kind of face, I guess." He pasted on a grin, but it faded rapidly. "Cas," he said. "There are things I want to tell you. But I have to be sure it's the right thing to do. I can't just talk to you because I feel the need."

A breath found its shaky way into Castiel's ribcage. "I know exactly what you mean," he said.

They ate silently for a minute. Dean's hands shook as he reached for a beer.

"So you're leaving town." Cas took a can, but shifted it from hand to hand, feeling the chill seep up his wrist.

"Tomorrow." Their eyes didn't meet.

"When will you be back?"

Dean caught his breath. In the silence of the night, Castiel could hear the choke of his throat around the cold air. "I don't know. Days, maybe. Weeks, more likely."

"Don't go."

It came out faster and louder than Castiel intended it to.

Dean dropped his beer, let the can roll to the side. "Don't say that."

Distance was growing between them. Castiel could feel it like a gap opening in the ground. He had to say something. He had to tell Dean something. Whether it was the truth or some anxiously constructed lie, he didn't know. But the closer he looked at Dean's face, the more he thought he'd never be able to keep from telling him everything.

"It really is gonna rain," Dean said. His chin was angled up toward the sky.

Smart man, Castiel thought. He knew to look away. Castiel himself couldn't tear his eyes away from the upturned face, the sharp angles of his profile and the wide eyes. "Should we go back to the car?" he asked, carefully. He couldn't trust his own tongue right now. Truth was trembling on his lips.

Dean looked down and met his eyes. All the air, all the sounds of the night, and all the distance between them faded away.

A hand, at first hesitant, moved with increasing confidence up from Dean's side to touch Castiel's face. "Nah," Dean said. "I can live with a little rain."

"I have something important to tell you," Castiel blurted out.

"You don't have to." Dean's other hand came up to match the first. The drag of his fingertips against Castiel's skin was so achingly good that Castiel had to close his eyes to handle the sensation. "I already know."

"You can't know." Castiel touched the back of Dean's hand with one fingertip. A thrill went through him.

"Shh." Dean's lips were less than a breath away from his. Castiel's eyelashes fluttered, but he didn't open his eyes. This sensation -- the warmth, the closeness, the almost-kiss -- he didn't want to let go of it. He felt he could see Dean's expression from beneath his eyelids.

"Dean." The name, broken, falling from his mouth -- and then caught, crushed between them in a bruising kiss. Castiel groaned and wound his arms around Dean's neck, pressing in as close as he could. Dean's chest was solid and everywhere, so broad Castiel could drown in it. The night's chill dissipated. He was so, so warm.

They broke apart, and Castiel's eyes finally opened.

The look on Dean's face -- bewitched, half-lidded, his lower lip trembling with the heaviness of a kiss still lingering there -- was intensely beautiful.

"I've wanted that for a long time," Castiel said, his words tumbles of emotion such as he almost never showed. Now he couldn't hold it back.

Dean's lips turned upward. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, me too."

Castiel leaned forward, let his cheek rest against Dean's. He smiled, and he felt Dean's cheekbones lift with an answering smile. The night had cleared and opened above them. He hadn't even tried.


	5. Cinnamon Rolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sam pouts and one gunshot changes everything.

____spacer____

  
The sun was rising when they woke up. The first thing Castiel saw was Dean’s lips, round and full, puffing air in his face. His heart surged, and he felt like crying. There was a chill in the air, and, murmuring in his sleep, Dean pulled him close, his body trembling minutely beneath a sky blue as an icicle.  Castiel smiled, just faintly, and let his eyes drift closed again.

A minute, or maybe an hour later, the chill awoke him and Dean both. They looked at each other, then broke the morning's silence with laughter.  
“We really...”

“We did.”

Dean's shoulders were warm, his arms a folding square cage around Castiel's shoulders and back. Castiel leaned into them, let his chin rest on the crest of one bicep. "What do we do now?" he asked.

"Good question." Dean looked up into the sky. Rising slabs of orange-yellow sunlight lay across his face like swaths of paint, bright and uncompromising. "Figure we can stay here a little bit longer before we freeze to death."

Castiel nodded wordlessly. Dean leaned in, then, and kissed him, a long, quiet morning kiss. His lips were crusty with the aftermath of sleep. He felt unbearably human and warm. Castiel thought he might melt, just slink away into the grass and seep into the earth, never to be seen again. He settled his weight onto Dean and trusted him to keep him above ground.

____spacer____

  
Sam walked into the Baking Angel at six a.m. His cheeks were rosy from exertion, and the tip of his nose was faintly red from the early-morning nip in the air. The shop had just opened.

"He's not here," Gabriel said crossly from behind the counter.

"Which he?" Sam shot back. Gabriel grunted.

"Suppose they're in some sleazy motel room, waking up together with sore hineys," Gabriel tossed out as Sam crossed to the counter.

Sam stopped short and blushed. "It's too early in the morning!" he protested, slapping a hand to his forehead.

"You're right, they're probably doing it _again_." Gabriel gave a sharp cackle and reached into the display case with a pair of tongs. "How about a cinnamon roll, Sammy-man? Something to get the day started off right."

"We can't stay," Sam said, slamming his hands onto the countertop.

The tongs faltered. "Whoa."

"We can't. There's too much to do. And if we stay here we'll--"

He stopped and looked forlornly at Gabriel. His mouth drooped.

Gabriel relented. "Look," he said, recapturing the sticky bun and shoving it into a bag, "the kids'll be all right, okay? They're young, they're in love, they're disgustingly sweet together. Quite frankly, I wish you two had shown up sooner. He could have used you a few years back, when things were really bad."

Sam didn't have a clue what he was talking about. He just shook his head and took the bag mutely.

"They'll be OK. Now _you_, Sam. I worry about _you_."

"Me?" Gentle eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Gabriel just looked at him silently for a long minute. Sam felt like an ant under a microscope. He started squirming in his own collar. "Damn shame," Gabriel said finally. "That it had to be you. You're such a good kid and everything."

"You know, you do a lot of talking to me like I'm some kid," Sam said, straightening up. "We're not so far apart in age, you know."

"Do you?" Gabriel's voice was a sad, quizzical note.

"I really don't get you. You're the moodiest guy I've ever met. One minute you're offering me a cinnamon roll and the next you're looking at me like I'm your worst nightmare. It pisses me off."

"What do you care?" Sam tried to hand over a bill, but Gabriel refused, shaking his head. "You're leaving, anyway."

"I do care." Sam frowned. "I like you, Gabriel. You're a good guy."

"No," Gabriel said darkly. "No, I'm really not."

____spacer____

  
"So you're leaving today."

"That's the plan." Dean sighed and folded the blanket into the trunk of the car. The road was starting to come alive, the occasional semi or pickup honking a cheerful hello as it barrelled by, compact cars not so friendly, minivans shuttling along too self-absorbed to notice them. Birds were squawking on a power line on the other side of the divider.

The Impala's windshield had fogged over, and Castiel mopped it up with a cloth as Dean repacked the trunk. "Where are you going?"

"On the road. Here and there." He avoided Castiel's gaze. "It's what we do."

Castiel considered challenging him, but stayed silent, mopping the car's brow without a word.

Dean leaned on the open hatch. "I don't want to," he ventured.

"Yes, you do." The words came without a breath, without a thought.

Dean slammed the trunk shut. "Don't say that. How do you know what I want? You don't have a clue what it's like for me. You--"

He stopped. Castiel's face was stricken. "I'm sorry. I just... I'm not who you think I am, OK? I'm not... There's more going on here than you know. Than you can possibly know."

"I could say the same," Castiel said, so quiet he wasn't sure Dean even heard him. He thought he saw Dean's eyebrows rise, but he couldn't be sure. And he didn't want to look any closer. With the sunlight had come the seeds of unease, and the ride home was tenser than it had any right to be.

Still, just before Dean dropped him off, they melted into each other like they might never get the chance again.

____spacer____

  
Bobby said Sam was out in the yard, and when Dean strode out, he saw the back of Sam's head, an unopened white paper bag, and the hazy light of morning clearing up steadily into clear noontime sun.

Dean picked a long grass from the lawn, folded it over and blew into it. "Could never make that work," he said ruefully, casting a sidelong glance at Sam.

Sam shrugged. "There's a cinnamon roll in the bag," he said. "If you're hungry." His voice was flat.

"What, what's this?" Dean strode across the short stretch of grass to stand beside him. "You're moping."

"I'm not moping."

"You're moping. Why? Because you're jealous? Is that it?"

"Shut up, Dean."

"You should be." Dean grinned and opened the bag, taking a whiff of the roll inside. "You sure you don't want it?"

"Cut it out!" And Sam grabbed the bag back in one flash of a long arm. He held it in a white fist. His eyes were burning with hurt.

"Whoa. Whoa." Dean raised his hands into the air, a gesture that said _look, no sudden movements_. "What the hell is wrong?"

"You know what's wrong." Sam looked away. "You're not going to leave, are you?"

"What are you talking about? We're leaving today. Here I am, ready to go."

"You don't want to."

"All right. All right, so I don't want to." He shook his head. "Can you blame me? Jesus. I'm..." His voice broke. "I'm in love with the guy. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard? I love boobs more than I love life, and I've gone and fallen for a baker who has the same parts as me. A fucking _baker_!"

"I tried to tell you." The words wanted to be punitive, but they just weren't. Sam could only conjure up a sad sort of smile as he gazed at his brother's profile.

"You did." Dean's look was equally rueful. "I should have known better." He kicked the ground.

"You know the worst part?" Sam said. "I'm actually pretty damn happy for you."

Dean's head tilted. "Huh?"

"I mean, you deserve to be happy. And, you know, there's a reason why people want to fall in love." Sam opened the bag. The smell of cinnamon, rich and nostalgic, filled his lungs when he took in a long breath. "Wish you had gotten to know Jess better, Dean. She made me so, so happy. I want that for you. I do. It's just that you and I... we can never be..."  
   
"Normal." Dean leaned over the bag and smelled.

"Yeah."

"So what are you going to do?"

"For one thing," Dean said, reaching inside the bag, "I'm gonna have half a cinnamon roll. Share?"

Sam grinned at him. Carefully, Dean parted the soft tufts of pastry and dropped one half into Sam's hand. They lifted their halves in a faux toast and, in unison, took one sweet, airy bite.

Then the gunshot rang out.

____spacer____

  
The man in the hallway was holding a smoking bullet in his hand, staring at it with an expression of vague annoyance, as Dean came into the hallway. He'd sent Sam around front to grab a shotgun from the trunk of the car, come up the back steps, and found Bobby and a tall, broad-shouldered black man who apparently had just plucked the bullet from the air.

Bobby's eyes were wild. He was biting his lip and squeezing the trigger of the shotgun repeatedly, but it did nothing but click and grind impotently in his hand. Dean could see every bristle of his beard quivering. It took a lot to get a tough old fart like Bobby perturbed, and Bobby was beyond perturbed at this point. Dean stepped between him and the stranger. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

"Oh, hello, Dean Winchester." The man had a voice like the rumbling of subway cars beneath a city street. The lights vibrated above him and the floor seemed to waver as he spoke. "It's an honor."

"Is it?" Dean raised an eyebrow. "Guess that means you'll tell me who you are and why you're here, then."

"With pleasure." Teeth zigzagged into a smile. "My name is Uriel. And I'm here for Sam."

Dean began to shake. Whoever this man was, he _knew._

It was a secret Sam didn't know, and even Dean didn't really understand the details of it. But his father had whispered to him a frightening ultimatum in the moments before he'd handed over his life and soul, and ever since then Dean had lived in fear of the day someone would appear and say "I'm here for Sam."

Dean thought for a second about asking this Uriel for details. Just what did he want with Sam? What was the meat behind this mystery that had been hanging over his head since his father's death? But then Sam was there behind Uriel, about to come through the front door with a loaded shotgun, and if there was one thing scarier than Dean knowing he might have to someday take his own brother down, it was Sam himself knowing it.

So he bit down the curiosity and just hollered, "Sam, run!"

"And there he is." Uriel turned slowly, too slowly, and Dean grabbed him by the arm and yanked. Two hundred fifty-odd pounds of man slipped down on top of him, and he howled, but not before locking eyes with his brother. Sam nodded and bolted through the front door. Dean wrapped his arms around Uriel's neck and shouted for Bobby. Outside, the engine of a car roared to life.

Bobby was all gristle and sinew, hardly the strongest guy in town but far from the weakest, and he could take a whole lot of abuse. He went forward toward Uriel like a bowling ball barreling toward a frame of tenpins and knocked him down. Another flash and Bobby was emptying a flask of holy water into his face, but all it did was make Uriel spit and cough. Nothing burned.

Uriel laughed a low, evil laugh. "You think I'm a demon," he said. "That's cute. Really cute." He raised his hand, just the slightest motion, and Dean and Bobby went flying across the room, slamming into the wall like a pair of wrecking balls. Pictures dropped from their nails in the foyer. The stairs rattled.

"Then what in the hell are you?" Dean wheezed the question through what felt like a shattered ribcage.

"You should have asked your new friends that question," said a voice from the front door. Uriel stiffened and turned.

The man who stood there now was portly, with a shock of white hair on either side of his bald crown. When he smiled, it was a big-lipped, closed-mouth smile, and his jowls bounced. "Uriel," he said, nodding at the front door. "You can go after the other. I'll handle things here."

"Thank you, sir," Uriel said with a deference Dean wouldn't have thought he was capable of. And in a flash he was through the door and gone.

"Now, then." The new arrival rubbed his hands together. "I'm betting you have a million questions, Dean Winchester. But let me start by giving us a bit of privacy." He angled the sick smile at Bobby. "Take a nap."

Bobby slumped to the floor, unconscious. Dean shouted, but he still couldn't move a muscle to help him. His shoulders thumped uselessly against the wall.

"Now, then. Where were we? Oh, yes. My name is Zachariah. And I have good news for you, Dean. You've been chosen."

"For what? By who?"

Zachariah approached him. "For a very special destiny. And as for by whom..." His eyes lifted an instant, just long enough to point out his answer.

Dean gave a barking laugh. "By God? You're serious? Oh, that's rich. So what are you, then? Some kind of angel?"

The look he got in response silenced him. His eyes hollowed into big, black pupils with green-gray rims. "You're serious."

"Not only that," Zachariah said, "I'm not the first angel you've met, Dean Winchester. And I certainly won't be the last."

____spacer____

  
The car flew over the crest of the hill. Sam hunkered down at the wheel as the tires left the pavement and slammed back down an instant later. He didn't know how much time he had, how much time Dean had bought for him. He didn't know what was after him. He only knew that his only hope was to pray that his cell phone rang and it was Dean with some answers before this thing caught up to him.

Prayers that were not answered. The speck of darkness in his rear-view mirror turned quickly to a cloud of fog, and even that was getting bigger and more menacing every second. The fog had a face, and then a hand that reached out, and the car skidded and the tires blew all at once. Sam braced and hit the brakes. He managed to launch himself out the driver-side door just as the car careened off the road and ended up in a ditch, smoking.

Sam took off on foot, then, pounding up the road with dirt-caked boots. The thing was still behind him, and gaining, and there was nothing in this area of town but cornfields and that old barn. He was so far beyond screwed at this point. But fear pulled him along, and he scanned the horizon desperately, looking for shelter or help or something.

And then he heard it. Just down the street, a voice. And he saw a waving hand.

"Over here! Over here, Tin Man!"

Sam's eyes went wide.  He veered off the street and gave a shout. "Gabriel? What are you--"

"No time. Run. Make for the barn. hurry!" Gabriel pushed him along, then ran alongside him. Sam couldn't tell which was more impressive -- that Gabriel was keeping up, with those tiny legs of his, or that their pursuer was still gaining. He sped up as best he could and went flying through the barn's open doors, Gabriel just behind.

"Up. Hide. Go, now!" Gabriel pushed him toward the ladder that led to Sam's loft, the place he'd been when Gabriel had stumbled upon him before. Sam swung himself up into the perch with the ease of a man who'd done it a million times. "No matter what happens," Gabriel said, "keep your head down until I tell you it's all right."

This was insane. What the hell was this little guy, this bakery shop employee, saying? "Gabriel, how did you--"

Gabriel's eyes flashed black fire. "Trust me!" he shouted, and there was nothing to be done, no argument to be made. Sam did as he was told and lay, his ear to the wooden slat, listening carefully and trying not to make any noise.

He heard footsteps, and then an indrawn breath. A low voice said Gabriel's name with a note of surprise.

"Hello, Uriel." Gabriel's voice was its usual sharp self. "Did you think I wouldn't see you slithering around my town like the little snake you are?"

"Your town?" The thing called Uriel laughed. "I seem to recall it wasn't your idea to come here in the first place. I'm here to collect, Gabriel."

"You're here to get your grubby little paws around Sam Winchester's neck, and I'm not going to let it happen."

"Why not? You know what he is, Gabriel. You know what he has to be." A single footstep.

"All I know," Gabriel said with a patience Sam had seldom heard in his voice, "is that I've been waiting for you to take that next step."

A gasp. Gabriel's voice, curling around syllables in no language Sam had ever heard, in a tone too resonant for this earth. Sam sneaked forward to peek from over the edge of the loft.

And then white light streamed everywhere, and Uriel cried out in pain and surprise. The shaft of sheer brightness very nearly tore Sam's eyes right out of their sockets. He flinched, stumbled backward, hands over his eyes, and lay down shuddering as the last of the light died down. It hurt to breathe. His eyes were stinging as though hot pokers had been in them.

"Poor, poor kid," he heard Gabriel say, in a quiet voice not meant for his ears. "You annoy the hell out of me, Sam, but that doesn't mean you deserve this. Really, I'm sorry."  
   
"Like hell you are," growled Sam just before he tackled him.

Gabriel went sprawling to the floor. Sam had launched himself out of the loft, a cannonball of arms and legs and furor, slamming him backward against the packed dirt of the ground and pinning them there. "What in the hell was that? Who are you? What do you know about me?" His jaw was set, his teeth grinding hard enough to start sparks. "Answer me!"

The look he got wasn't frightened, it wasn't challenging, it was just plain sad. Gabriel was looking at him and seeing something that was already lost. It took the fire out of Sam's eyes. "What?" he demanded again, but his voice had half its strength. When he asked again, he was hoarse. "You know, don't you? About me. What is it? What am I?"

"You're someone who doesn't deserve what's coming your way," said Gabriel. Sam let him go, sitting up. Gabriel stayed on the floor, prone, looking up at the high vaulted rafters of the barn.  "I'm sorry, really, I am. But I can't stop it. None of us can."

Sam sat back on his haunches and peered at him. "Who are you? You're not just some baker."

Gabriel laughed. "Now that, my friend, is the understatement of the year."

____spacer____

  
"Angels."

"Yes."

"Angels want me. To fight. for them."

"You're surprisingly slow on the uptake, Dean. That's what I've been telling you."

The angel called Zachariah seemed to have no end of patience, standing there without so much as tapping his feet on the rug while Dean gaped and boggled and in general acted like a guy who'd just been told he was supposed to be some sort of heavenly warrior. "And you thought," Dean said, "that sending that guy to kill my brother would be a good opening move. You know, sometimes I'm bad at winning friends and influencing people, but that's got to be a new world record."

"It couldn't be helped," Zachariah shrugged. "You see, Sam's got his part to play in this, too, and unfortunately it isn't one you're terribly much going to like. If it makes you feel better, I sincerely doubt Uriel will have any success in killing him. I'm not unaware of who protects this town, and, by extension, you. Or maybe it's the other way around."

"I don't follow."

"Of course you don't. Like I said, surprisingly slow on the uptake." Zachariah stifled a yawn. "You know, when you look at the big picture, the signs are all there. Think about where your mind has been since you arrived in town. You've had a big magnet on your back that's led them right to you. And you right to them, for that matter. Which is more or less just like we planned it. Of course, we didn't quite count on the little--" He cleared his throat -- "tete-a-tete."

"What the hell are you talking about, my tete-a-tete? You mean this has something to do with Cas--"

"He's always been a bit of a child," Zachariah said with a cavalier shrug.  "He sees something he wants, and no force in Heaven can sway him. No different on earth, I see."

Dean's expression darkened. "Are you trying to tell me that Cas is--"

An angel.

Quite literally, a baking angel.

_I can fly._

He went pale.

_You'd be surprised what I can do._

Zachariah chuckled. "And here I'm sure you thought this was just some sort of adorable romance. Not so, my friend. I hate to tell you this, Dean, but... you've been set up."

"You're lying." Dean's hands clenched into fists, and he struggled against the invisible bonds that held him. "Cas isn't-- I won't believe it."

"Oh, Dean." Zachariah clucked his tongue. "You already do believe it. It's all good, really. It makes getting down to business that much more--"

His jaw swung open like the latch of a door, and golden light poured out. Dean's arms fell free of their bonds, and he threw and arm over his face to keep from being blinded. When he could look again, there was no one and nothing there. Just a singe mark on the carpet and a single white feather fluttering to the floor.

Bobby stirred behind him. Dean helped him up, steadied him as he let out a torrent of curses and complaints before turning his sharp tongue on Dean. "Boy, are you going to tell me what in the hell just happened?"

"I will, Bobby," he said, swinging toward the front door. "Two things to take care of first. I'll be back. I swear."  He pulled out his keys and slid out to the front porch, heading straight for the car. Two things. No. 1: make sure Sam was all right. No. 2: talk to Castiel.

____spacer____

  
Sam kicked straw into the air and watched it flutter, blond and shaky, to the ground. "The devil? The fucking devil? Is this a joke?"

Gabriel looked up at him. "Life is a joke, Tin Man. always has been. Always will be."

"Shut up." Sam seized him by the collar. "You've got no right to talk. You're one of them. You could have warned me, could have done something, and you didn't."

Gabriel pressed his hands to Sam's chest and pushed, and Sam flew across the length of the barn and slammed into the doors. "Damn right I didn't," he muttered. He stood, arms folded, and watched as Sam stumbled forward, clutching his back, his eyes dark pools of shadow.

He made his way back to Gabriel. "I don't get you," he said. "How could you know, and just let it happen? Want it to happen?"

Gabriel's eyes went dark. "Let's put it this way. When you and your brother fight, do you give each other the silent treatment for a hundred years, or do you have it out with him?" He didn't give Sam time to answer. "You get in a big fight and beat each other to a bloody pulp. Don't you? Because the other way is torture. The waiting, the not talking, that hurts."

His mouth twitched. "That's where I am. That's where I've been. Waiting for these two to have their fight so our family can be whole again."

"But-- but this isn't just some petty fight. Your brothers-- if they fight, millions of people die!"

"Then how much worse do you think it is for me to sit here waiting?" The words were a burst of sound, and Gabriel's hands flew out, shoving Sam roughly. He flew across the length of the barn and slammed into the doors. Gabriel shouted after him. "Don't talk to me about how much I ought to care about you. I don't give a damn about you. It's thanks to my Father you're even on this earth, and what do you people do with your lives, this gift he's given you? You fight, you screw, you hurt each other and you die. So what should I care what happens to you?"

"But you do."

Sam was making his way back to Gabriel. Slowly, and with an arm draped over his chest where Gabriel had pushed him, but he was walking back. His eyes were dark, glinting. Gabriel squinted and shuddered. "What's that about?"

"That guy, Uriel? He wasn't here to kill me. To scare me, maybe, but he wanted this whole vessel thing to happen as much as you say you do. Whatever he was going to do to me, you could have let him. And you sent him away." Gabriel breathed in sharply, his nostrils flaring. Sam ignored the motion. "You could have handed him off to me. But you fought him off. How does that square with you wanting armageddon to come, huh?"

"Shut-- shut up," Gabriel said, flustered. "Uriel annoys me. He always has.'

"So do I." Sam leaned toward him, got right in his face, smirking. "Remember?"

A blaze shot through Gabriel's eyes.

And just like that, he had pressed himself up against Sam and was kissing him hard. Sam took in a shaky breath. His eyes were wide open. Gabriel's hands came up to clamp down on Sam's shoulders.

Then Sam shifted and gathered Gabriel up closer, his eyelids fluttering shut. His hands raked into Gabriel's hair, pulling just hard enough to make Gabriel whimper into the kiss.

"Damn right you do," Gabriel whispered, husky. His eyes, when he opened them, were predatory. He slid a palm beneath the collar of Sam's shirt. "You annoy the hell out of me."

Sam looked down at it, then up into Gabriel's face. "Oh, God." His voice shook.

"God?" Gabriel scoffed. "He's left the building. Now there's just us." His fingers played at the base of Sam's hair.

"Why do you say that?" Soft words from parted lips. Sam felt like he was speaking through water, or gauze, or fog perhaps. Something smoky that obscured his words.

"Because it's true. I can't remember the last time my Father showed up." Gabriel's eyes darkened. He drew back, and his hands dropped, hardening into fists. "It's just us now. And we're tired of waiting. I'm tired of waiting. And watching my brothers fight. And knowing there's no God left to tell us what's right. We might as well just fight it out now. I say, bring it on."

"And destroy humanity in the process."

"So what?"

"So," Sam grabbing one of those fists and straightening it again, then interlacing his fingers with Gabriel's. He pushed weight into every syllable as he spoke. "Just because your father's gone doesn't mean you don't have a responsibility to his legacy. Trust me. I should know."

"I don't need you moralizing to me." Gabriel snatched his hand away and shoved Sam roughly. His eyes lifted briefly. "What am I doing?" he asked the ceiling, or the heavens, before looking at Sam coldly. "It's bad enough that my Father simpered constantly over you humans. Enough. I'm done listening to this bullshit. See ya, Sam." He waved a hand cheerlessly.

Sam scrambled forward. "Gabriel, if you disappear on me I'll--"

It was too late.

____spacer____

  
Dean sped out to the barn and called Bobby, who came out in the tow truck to retrieve the wrecked car. Then there was a three-man round of twenty questions that seemed to take forever. Even though it was important to get everyone up to speed, Dean's heart wasn't in the chat. He kept looking outside at the waning light and wondering when he'd finally be able to escape.

All told, it was evening by the time Dean got around to the second leg of his to-do list. The bakeshop had closed for the night, but Dean wasn't about to let a little thing like that stop him. He circled round to the back entrance and rapped sharply on the door.

From the window, he could see the stairwell that led up to the brothers' apartment, as well as the back of the kitchen itself. He peered through the glass for a few minutes, then knocked again, this time bellowing Castiel's name with all the force in his stomach.

After a moment, a pale face appeared at the window. Castiel pulled the door open, but Dean stayed outside, leaning heavily on the doorframe and staring at him. "How long were you going to hide it from me, huh?"

In an instant Castiel's face went from pleased to stunned. "What?"

"Was it because I was supposed to leave today? You just thought you'd have your fun and then send me packing, and I'd never find out you were part of it?"

"Dean. I don't know what you're--"

Like hell you don't. When were you going to tell me?"

Castiel laid his hands on Dean's arms. His forehead was pinched together in worry. "Just come inside. I didn't think I was going to see you again."

"Yeah, because you sent your buddies to collect me," Dean said, but he did walk in through the doorway, crossing in front of Castiel without so much as a look or a touch. Only when he was several paces from him did he turn and go on. "That's what they told me. That you set me up. That this whole thing between us was a lie."

Castiel opened his mouth, but no words came out. He just stared at Dean, shock in his eyes.

Dean rushed in to fill the gap. "I had a visit from a couple of interesting guys today. One of them tried to kill my brother. And the other one -- think he said his name was Zachariah -- told me a damn interesting story."

Castiel's eyes squeezed shut for a moment of recognition and pain. "Oh, no."

"Yeah, that's right. So how about it, Cas? You going to tell me the truth?"

The world was coming down around his ears. Castiel shook his head. "I can't believe this is happening."

"Tell me the truth!"

"I... I tried to tell you."

"Well, you didn't try hard enough. What about last night, huh? You could have told me then. You could--" And then Dean remembered Castiel trying to tell him something, and Dean like a fool had thought he knew what it was, and... He looked toward him to confirm it, and the pain he saw in Castiel's eyes silenced him completely.

Castiel began to walk toward him. "I wish it wasn't true. I wish I was just like everyone else. Dean, I didn't tell you because I was starting to believe the lie myself. I wanted to believe it."

Dean stood firm. "Tell me the truth."

"The truth is..." And hapless eyes flew to his. "The truth is that I love you."

If Dean had been any less on guard, he might have stumbled backwards. As it was, he felt the balance of the room waver dangerously, and he held out an arm to steady himself.  His hand locked around Castiel's wrist, entirely by accident, but he felt the heat zip up his arm to his shoulder and take hold of his spine. "Cas," he said, a throaty whisper.

Castiel's eyes were adamant. "You have to understand. Nothing else matters to me anymore," he said. "Not what I am, not what they want for you. All I know is that I'm in love with you. I don't even care anymore--" He turned away then, his jaw locking, as though his mind was working through a series of problems and filing them away, one by one. Dean dared not interrupt that process.

Finally he turned back. "I never gave a damn before you," he said. "Not about the end of the world, not about destiny or the human race. I knew this would happen someday, but I never cared. And then I met you, and now I find... I want to have a choice. I want to choose whether I believe in the plan or not. That has never been my choice to make."

He walked to Dean, put both hands on his face, and leaned in. "Do I have to say those words?" he asked. Wide blue eyes searched Dean's. "Because they don't matter anymore. The words that matter, I've already said."  
   
Dean sighed, a great expulsion of breath that crumpled him forward. He took Castiel into his arms. "You stupid, frustrating, idiotic angel."

"There." Castiel smiled against Dean's collar. "You said it for me."


	6. Sugar Cookies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a normal life seems out or reach and Gabriel makes a decision.

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Sam woke before dawn to find the message light flashing on his cell phone.

"Sam, it's me. I just wanted to let you know, I'm probably not coming home tonight. If you need me, I'm at Cas' place. Call my cell."

Great. Mental image he did not need, on the heels of being chased by what apparently were angels. How could Dean still trust Castiel after all of that? He'd given Sam the story in pretty meaningful detail of what had happened after Sam was busy running for his life. It seemed like any conversation would inevitably end in a fistfight.

Or sex, Sam supposed. Come to think of it, that made a lot of sense, knowing Dean.  
 He'd spent the past night with a tornado blowing through his head. Or maybe it was circus music. Whatever it was, it was too much. Too much to process. All these revelations, all these things he'd learned. And as the capstone of a truly ridiculous twenty-four hours, that kiss. Not that romantic proclivities had any importance at all compared to what had come before. But there was always something about love that overshadowed everything else...

Well, not love. He wasn't Dean. This wasn't his story. He wasn't the one having a grand romance. This was just one more confusion to add to the rest. Besides, if things were the way Gabriel made them out to be-- that was, if Gabriel was really _the_ Gabriel-- then how could it be romance? Weren't they all supposed to be above earthly pleasures? Sam was a little put out. Nothing he'd learned about angels in the past day had been anything near what he'd expected.

He came downstairs and left a note on the kitchen table, then drove out in the tow truck back to the barn. It was the only place he could think clearly, and besides, something had happened there yesterday that required further investigation. Gabriel had used no magic Sam had ever seen. There had to be remnants, or clues, or something. Something that would give Sam a little more of a clue as to what he was up against, and how to hold out against it.  He wasn't going to be a dancing monkey for the devil or for angels or for anything in between. He'd been doing this too long to give up now.

The hay bales that had sat in the barn since time immemorial were burned through in straight stripes, as though someone had split them with a laser. Sam vaguely remembered seeing the oddity yesterday, but at the time he was too upset, too rattled to really think about it. Now, the unnatural nature of it really settled on his eyes. It was as though the fire had burned straight up, without spreading to the side as normal fires do, and where it had burned the hay had been reduced to black cinders. The lines of ash extended out past the hay bales into a complete circle -- a ring of ash and brown liquid that looked suspiciously like dried blood. In the middle and along the fringes of the circle, strange shapes he'd never seen before, in the same awful brown hue.

"It's Enochian," said a voice above him. Sam straightened and tipped his chin upward to see a shower of stardust.

No, not stardust. Sugar.

Gabriel was sitting in the loft, a paper bag clutched in one hand, a sugar cookie in the other. He was chomping at the oversized sweet so voraciously that sugar was shaking off his lips and hands and falling in a sparse stream of crystals from the upper level to the floor. As Sam stared at him, gaping, Gabriel finished that cookie, brushed the excess sugar off his hands in another flood of the stuff, and drew another from the bag. "Enochian," he repeated. "Angelic script. It'ff gffd stff for mffgic," he added through another big bite.

"What--" Sam squinted up at him. "What are you doing here?"

"You said I could come here and think anytime I wanted. So that's what I'm doing."

"At six in the morning?" Sam's voice slid up into an incredulous soprano. "With cookies?"

"Hey." Gabriel shook the confection at him sternly. "It's never too early for cookies."

Sam blinked up at him. His heart was thumping. "We need to talk," he said, even though he was terrified of talking.

"Oh, don't be stupid," Gabriel frowned at him. "You've got bigger fish to fry."

"Gabriel," Sam said, and then he stopped. He didn't want to have this conversation, not at dawn, not when Gabriel didn't want to have it. If Gabriel was perfectly willing to pretend the kiss didn't happen, then Sam could do the same. He looked down and away, continuing to memorize the pattern on the floor, filing each angle and shape away for future research.

A sugar cookie appeared, hovering, in front of his face. Gabriel had climbed down from the loft and now stood next to him, brandishing the sweet between two fingers. "Want one?"

Sam made a face. "No, thanks."

"It's the end of the world, my friend," Gabriel said. "Eat dessert first."

"It's not the end of the world."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at him. He withdrew the cookie and chomped on it himself, moaning a little as the buttery stuff melted on his tongue.

"It's not." Sam's face darkened. "We won't let it happen. We'll stop it."

"We? Who, the Super Winchester Brothers? With monkey wrenches and axle grease?"

"We're not..." He bit his tongue quickly. The angels didn't appear to be omniscient; they hadn't picked up on the fact that Dean and Sam were hunters, and Sam wasn't about to give them any clue. "Look," he started again, deliberately, "if they need us, we have power over them. You said we have to say yes, right? So as long as we don't..."

Gabriel shook his head. "You really are spectacularly stupid, you know that? How many people do you think Lucifer will kill to get you to say yes?"

"And if I do say yes he'll kill everybody.  Seems to me I'm still the one in control here."

A derisive snort.

"Come on." For the first time, Sam cracked a smile. "Have a little courage, Cowardly Lion."

No response.

"Or maybe you're the Scarecrow," Sam pushed. "Maybe the reason you can't think for yourself is that you don't have a brain."

Gabriel turned away from him. His shoulders were hunched.

But Sam was starting to get into this. "Then again, maybe you're Dorothy. All you want is to go home to Heaven."

"Shut up!"

Gabriel slammed his hand against one of the pylons of wood that held up the loft. The whole structure creaked dangerously.

He fixed his eyes on Sam. "Don't you dare pretend you know what it is to be me, you stupid, limited speck of dust! I _ran _from Heaven. I got the hell out of Dodge, because I couldn't stand to see my brothers killing each other."

Sam took in a sharp breath. Gabriel's voice trembled with emotion. "For centuries, _centuries_ I walked this Earth, not belonging anywhere, not being anyone. And then I hear the end is near, so I phone home and volunteer to make it happen. We move here, we wait for you, and wait and wait and _wait,_ and now after thirty years of peace and quiet here you are, and suddenly we have angels up our asses, and Castiel is playing house with your brother, and you just piss me off, and it's all gone to shit. Now the only home I've got left is the one I can go back to when this is all over."

When Gabriel walked up to him, Sam thought he saw wetness around his eyes.

"So don't you talk to me about home, and courage, and free will. Been there, done that. And still, the only thing I know for sure is that we'd finally gotten used to living here, and now because of you we're going to have to leave. And there's nothing we could do even if we wanted to. This is destined to happen, kemosabe." He poked a finger at Sam's chest. Gabriel stood a full head shorter than Sam, but he still managed to get up into his face, seething at him. "This whole world is going to blow apart. And you are going to be the sack of meat that does it."

"That's what I am to you, then." Sam met his look with equal vehemence. "A sack of meat."

"Yeah," Gabriel said, his chin tilting upward. "That's exactly what you--"

He paused. For an instant he and Sam were drawing breath in unison, staring at each other in the abandoned barn.

Abruptly Gabriel drew back. "It's destiny, kid," he said quietly. "We can run from it, but we sure as hell can't hide." His eyes were mournful.

"We?"

The word came quicker than an echo. Gabriel took in a quick breath. Panic widened his eyes.

Sam felt a flutter of invisible wings. "Gabriel--" he began. But he was already alone again.

____spacer____

  
Gabriel came home to find Castiel standing in the kitchen, hands in his pockets. The ovens were off. Nothing was on the counter. Gabriel panicked. "Don't you have bread to bake?"

"We need to talk," Castiel said.

Gabriel's eyes focused on the front door of the shop behind him. The "OPEN" side of the sign was facing inward. "Aren't we opening today?"

"We're not going to give them up."

"Are you serious? You're closing shop to tell me this?" Gabriel grabbed the bin of flour and dragged it to the counter, sprinkling the surface. "Get baking."

"I'm not going to let them have him," Castiel said. He didn't move from the spot. "I've made a decision, Gabriel."

Gabriel sighed and shrugged. His  hands came up in a puff of flour. "All right, all right, I hear you," he said. "Let's talk about this. You have a crush on the Winchester boy and you don't want to hand him in. Understandable. Except for you know what? You're not going to be able to enjoy his tender lovin' when you're burned to dust from the inside out because Michael doesn't have his vessel when the time comes."

"You're as powerful as Michael," Castiel said. "You can keep him away."

"You're going to ask me to protect you?"

"Why not? You've already banished Uriel and Zachariah." A puzzled look from Gabriel. "Yes, I know they were here. Dean told me everything. Including that you activated the binding spell. This town is safe from any further encroachments. All we have to do is keep them here, and they won't be able to take them. You will help me, won't you, Gabriel? You were the one who told me in the first place--"

"I told you we could take our time. I said nothing about basically declaring war on our own kind. Hell, Castiel, we have Lucifer for that!"

"Say you'll help me." He reached forward and caught Gabriel's flour-caked hands in his own.

"No way. No fucking way, Castiel."

"What happened to you? You never used to care."

"This. Look what's happened to us. Ever since you started playing around with him, it's been one thing after another. I'm sick of it. These are my brothers, and they're trying to kill us. They're trying to kill each other. It's never going to end unless we let it end." He grabbed Castiel by the shoulders, blue eyes begging.

"I will not let anyone touch Dean."

"You're such a stupid romantic!" Gabriel threw up his arms and turned to pace around the kitchen. "Did you honestly think you could sit around baking pies all day until the end of time? You knew this day was coming. Not only knew it, you counted on it. When I was saying let's relax, enjoy ourselves, you were Mister Mission. And now Mister Mission finds his target in a pretty package and all of a sudden you're ready to rebel? How fickle can you get?"

"Gabriel, I've made up my mind."

"What mind you've got left."

"I'm not going to let anyone touch him." His eyes flashed. "You included."

"Once upon a time, you were on my side," Gabriel retorted. His nostrils flared, and his hand closed around the countertop. "Once upon a time, our family was more important than anything. What the hell is happening to us? We've been waiting thirty years for this day. Longer! And now it's here and..."

He trailed off. Castiel was examining him. He could feel the narrow eyes trying to dissect him.

"Did something happen?" Castiel said carefully.

Gabriel grumbled and made for the stairwell. "I don't want to talk about it."

He knew he was running away. Again. Given his cowardice, could he really blame Castiel for wanting to change things? He just wished he could crawl into a hole and let the war rage around him. But that was the nature of war, wasn't it? It touched everyone. And now it had singed Gabriel, right where it hurt most. And all he could think to do was take up arms and join the fray.

____spacer____

  
The silence had hung in the library for almost an hour. Nothing but the occasional clearing of a throat or the flipping of pages. Sam had drawn his best approximation of the spell on a piece of paper; Bobby had gazed at it for a long moment and then started picking out books and dividing them up, the faithful teacher distributing assignments. They settled down and got to reading, and since then, nobody had said a word.

Nothing useful seemed to be coming up. The symbol, the words led to some lore about angels, but when it was in English at all, it was so cryptic as to be completely unhelpful. Either that, or it was common knowledge already. Angels were God's army, they were righteous, they were fearsome, they were terrifying, they were...

"Dicks," Dean offered helpfully. "They're all just a bunch of dicks."

Bobby got up after another several minutes. "None of this makes any sense," he said, scratching his mustache. "There's plenty of lore about the end of the world, but none of it seems to match. There's all kind of crap about the gates of hell opening, and a righteous man shedding blood, and seals, and I haven't seen hide nor hair of it. Not a single Biblical omen or sign."

"Yeah," Dean said in a low voice, "not yet."

Sam's head shot up. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Dean rattled it off as though it were in the book right in front of him "What Cas said was, they were sent here to watch over all of that stuff. To make sure we were in the right place when it happens, so it all goes down according to Scripture."

"According to Scripture," Sam pointed out, "there's supposed to be rains of fire and famine and all kinds of crap."

"Yep." Dean scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "Pretty much."

"We can't let that happen."

"Damn straight we can't."

Dean's straightforward answers were starting to grate on Sam. "So how are we supposed to stop what hasn't happened yet, if we don't know when or where it's going to happen?"

"We stay," Dean said quietly.

Sam slammed his book shut. "What?"

"We stay in this town." Dean cleared his throat and looked up at Sam sheepishly. "Apparently Cas and Gabe worked some mojo on this place. That's what that flash was. A binding spell. As long as we stay within city limits, they can't get to us."

"And you were going to share this with us when?" Bobby scowled at him.

Dean turned. "I just did, didn't I?"

"And that doesn't strike you as being a trap?" Sam's eyes were bugged out. "Like maybe they just want us right where they can find us, so they can pluck us out when the day comes?"

A deep grumble sounded under Dean's tone. "Cas is on our side."

"And how do you know that?" Sam rose to his feet. His books thunked to the floor in a ruffle of dust and pages.

"I know."

"It wouldn't be because he's got sweet lips, would it?"

"Enough, don't want to hear, low on brain bleach." Bobby had a way of hijacking the conversation when he wanted to get a point across. With that grumpy declaration, he earned silence from the rest of the room. "Damn it, boy, I have enough trouble picturing you having sex with a woman."

"Don't look at me, I didn't bring it up!" Dean and Sam both looked a little sheepish. It wasn't cool to talk about such thing in front of your parents. or the nearest thing you had to them.

Bobby grumbled. "In any case, Sam's right. You have a crush on the man. And even if that didn't make my stomach squirm, it still wouldn't mean you can trust him."

"It's the best lead we've got," Dean contended.

"Never mind whether we can trust Cas," Sam jumped in. "We can't just stay here forever. It's not who we are. It's not what we do."

Where the rage came from Dean wasn't sure, but it came, and it came in spades. "Are you kidding me? Is this really you talking? Listen to yourself. It wasn't a year ago, you were all set to have the happily-ever-after. Law school, the wife, the picket fence, the works."

Sam shook his head slowly. "Don't bring her into this."

"It's the same thing, isn't it? You were trying to fight the inevitable, Sammy. You thought you could run away from family, make your own home. Why can't I have a shot at it, too?"

"Because it worked out so well for me." He stuttered over the words, chewed on his lip. His voice trembled. "Damn it, Dean, this life is all I've got left."

"All _you've _got left, you mean." Dean's tone was low and constant. "I'm sorry, Sammy, but it's the truth. You told me you were happy for me. You said I deserved this. Now you're going to tell me I can't have it?"

Sam began to speak, but the words wouldn't come out. He was regretting coming back from the barn. He was regretting ever going there in the first place. He was regretting even coming to town.

____spacer____

  
When Castiel was really, really stressed out, he made cookies. Reams of cookies. Rows of cookies. He rolled and cut and baked and folded and cooled and sprinkled until the kitchen was piled high with tiny little perfect creations. It was hard to get cookies wrong. So at a time when he felt he was getting everything else wrong, cookies were the way to go. 

Usually, he pawned off whatever he couldn't sell on Gabriel, who could down them faster than anyone he'd ever seen. Today, he'd have no such luck: Gabriel had stomped off, and the shop remained closed, to the dismay of a tiny girl clutching Mom's purse strings like a leash. Castiel peeked into the front of the shop and gave her an apologetic look, then went back to rolling and cutting. A robot couldn't have made cookies any more efficiently or perfectly than he did.

Castiel knew his craft. It was all he'd done for thirty years. And now Gabriel wanted him to pick up and go back to a place he no longer even remembered? Eternity was a long time, yes, but in heaven you didn't experience each day the way you did here. Here, thirty years felt like his whole life. How could he possibly give up what he'd been doing his whole life? Here, in the kitchen, with these cookies, felt so damn right.

And then it felt even more right.

Dean was standing in the doorway, leather jacket draped around his shoulders, looking like he'd just weathered a storm. He was breathing heavily, and his eyes on Castiel were steady and unusually clear.

"I won't go," he said.

Castiel stood stock-still, surveying him, for a second. "No?" The word was breathy, incredulous.

Dean shook his head and began to move forward. "I've wanted this too bad. I can't leave now. Now that I've actually got it."

Castiel broke into a run, closing the few steps between them, and barreled full-tilt into Dean's arms. His head sank against Dean's shoulder. "Thank you. Thank you." He hung on Dean's coat, his hands clutching the leather, pulling it into tight brown lines.

Dean smiled against the soft prickle of Castiel's hair. "Sammy's gonna be mad as hell."

"But he'll stay. Right?"

A shrug. "I don't know. I can't promise."

"You know what will happen." There was a low, dangerous growl to Castiel's voice, and Dean could see him all at once as a heavenly warrior, as the soldier he'd said he was. It frightened and thrilled him. "He sets foot outside this town and the forces of Heaven and Hell will fight over him until one wins. Whichever does, Sam won't survive."

"Don't underestimate him."

"What do you mean?" A quizzical look.

Dean caught his breath. "Nothing. Never mind." His gaze flickered across the room. "Hey, are those sugar cookies?"

Castiel's severe face broke into a grin. "You're always hungry." He moved over to the counter to pick up some cookies. "Well, at least I now who I can give my extras to from now--"

He stopped short as Dean's arms came around his waist from behind. "Cas." He kissed a delicate angel's ear. Castiel shuddered.

"I love you." The words came out unbidden. He couldn't tell if Dean answered. They were too crushed together into the kiss that followed to know for sure.

____spacer____

  
Sam was thinking about Jessica. It was hard for him not to on the best of days; on a day like today, when it felt like the world was coming apart, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd be any safer, any saner and any less likely to self-destruct if she were still with him.  Jessica had been such a special existence to him. For the first time in his life he'd met someone who understood him, who complemented him in all ways. She raised him up and made him a better person. Not just normal, but good. Special in a way that felt good. He'd never had that definition of the word special before, never had it since. She was the only one.

Dean was right, of course. Of course Sam couldn't begrudge him that sense of happiness. But the irony was unbelievable. Wherever Dean looked, he had people trying to convince him he was some sort of savior. Fighting on the side of the angels. Telling him over and over he was a good person when he never believed that of himself. And enter Sam, actually trying to be that good person, or trying to be normal at the very, very least, and what was his destiny? To serve the devil. It was disgusting. He thought he saw now just what road his good intentions had been paving all this time, and it made him sick to think about it. The world was a fundamentally unfair place.

At least now Gabriel's sort of visceral disgust of him made sense in the new context he had. Gabriel had been taught to despise everything Sam was -- no, everything Sam was destined to be. Of course he was confused. He'd probably never counted on his precious vessel actually being a whole person.

And then there was the fact that Gabriel had kissed him. Which brought up more issues than Sam was comfortable dealing with right now.

What would Jess say? What would she tell him?

He closed his eyes and summoned her face, her voice and her touch. So gentle, a hand on his. Level eyes that grounded him when he was feeling out of control. Jessica had often taken on the role of mother as well as lover, because Sam had never before in his life had that quiet female voice of reason. "Sometimes you just have to deal with the things that are right in front of you, Sam," she would say in times when he thought he'd explode from frustration or anger. "Sometimes that's the best you can do."

His eyes darted over the pages of the book he'd been reading, and he looked again at the flask in his hands. If he'd said the words of the spell accurately, what he held would be sufficient insurance. And even in his mind, Jess was always right.

He gave a half-smile into the air. "Miss you, Jess," he whispered. And he grabbed the car keys.

____spacer____

  
Gabriel was standing in the middle of the barn, staring at the doors, when Sam came in. The symbols were still painted in thick dried blood across the floor.

"I've been waiting for you," he said in a dark tone.

Sam took a step forward. "Good," he said. His hands were clutched into tight diamonds of fists. "Look, you might not think it's important, but we do need to talk about what happened." He couldn't reference it without reddening. "I'm beginning to think that maybe we hould just deal with it, you know? Not try and avoid the subject."

Gabriel's face was devoid of expression, either anger or agreement. His eyes were fixed on a point beyond Sam's face. Without changing that gaze, he nodded halfway, an indication that Sam should go on.

"I mean, you're not... you're not human to begin with, right? So it's probably impossible... and I don't think I have ever wanted... but, I mean, I can't say I'm not interested, you know? There was... there was something there."

He took a few more steps forward. He stood not a foot from Gabriel now, close enough to see the minute trembling of his lip.   

"I mean, if something's going to happen, it should just happen, right? We should just bite the bullet and stop fighting it. I--"

"My thoughts exactly."

There was no smile on Gabriel's face.

He extended a hand. There was a blast of white light. Sam shielded his eyes and drew back, looking down at the floor to avoid being blinded.

When the light faded, the floor he stared at was clean of blood.

"Brother," Gabriel whispered. His eyes were steel-hard. "Enter."

The single lightbulb that lit the barn exploded in a shower of sparks. A gust of wind blew the doors open. Sam whirled.

A silhouette framed in the same intense white light was heading their way. It rippled as it moved, and then split -- no, expanded, in a movement that Sam soon realized was the unfurling of gigantic wings.

"Gabriel," said a deep voice. "thank you so much for letting me in. I've been knocking for days."

"Welcome to town," Gabriel said. "Raphael."  



	7. Angel Food Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which lives are changed and cakes are baked.

  
Sam stumbled backward. His heel caught on a pebble on the floor, and he nearly lost his balance. In the cold air, his breaths felt like harsh strings of wire tearing at his throat.

The angel in front of him grinned. The one behind him was darkly silent, his arms folded over his chest, glowering in Sam's peripheral vision.  "Now," said Raphael. "Come with me, Sam Winchester, and I'm going to put you in a nice little box where we can keep you until it's time."

His voice, smoothly condescending, made Sam squint and frown. "Yeah, you know what? That sounds really fun, but I'll pass." His eyes flickered past Raphael to the open barn doors.

Raphael chuckled. "Oh, please run," he said. "That would be so diverting. I'll even give you a head start."

"Good enough for me," said Sam, and he broke into a sprint, heading through the doorway into the darkening evening. Once outside, he doubled back, heading around the barn to the far side. The clouds were gathering in an ominous gray heap above his head.

He could hear Raphael giving a short, low belly laugh. "One, two, three. Ready or not, here I come," the angel chanted, and a flicker of air later, there he was, all fists and thick shoulders, in Sam's path.

Sam wheeled to a stop, looked behind him, and stayed still, fists clenched. He backed up carefully, eyes on the grass, head lowered in a grave nod.

Raphael cocked his head. "What, have you given up already? That's no fun. Brother!" Another moment and Gabriel was by his side. "Why doesn't he run?"

"What does it matter why?" Gabriel's icy tone sent shudders through Sam. "Just take him. Get him out of my sight." His eyes flickered over Sam's face, a look that mixed yearning and disgust. Raphael nodded and started forward.

Sam opened his fist. A shining lick of color was curled in his hand. "Not likely," he said.

His thumb dragged down against the object -- a small green lighter -- and a flame sprang to life. Sam crouched, and the flame caught and spread, a circular wall of fire surrounding the entire barn.

"What in the--" Raphael  moved toward the barrier, but stopped just short of it, curling back as though repulsed.

"Holy oil." On the other side of the fire, Sam had to shout over the roaring of the flame. "You didn't think I'd come here without some sort of insurance, did you?"

Gabriel started forward, recoiling just as Raphael had at the barrier. "How did you--" His eyes rounded. "Castiel?"

"Guess again." Sam flashed him a smile. "You two really haven't been paying any attention, have you? You really thought we were a pair of mechanics."

Gabriel's mouth opened and closed again. No words could fight their way out.

"Rain'll set you free soon enough," Sam said, angling his eyes up at the sky. "See you then." He took off into a purposeful run.

Inside the circle, Gabriel and Raphael stood unmoving.

"I hate him," Gabriel said.

"No, Brother," Raphael replied. "That's the irony of it all. You don't. And you've doomed him anyway."

  
Dean was waiting at the door, his arms crossed, when Sam arrived. He was bolting up the front steps with Dean's name on his lips, ready to relate everything that had happened. But the one hurried breath he took in was enough time for Dean to cut him off. "I'm not leaving."

"What?" That breath was wasted. Sam couldn't quite draw in another.

"I've made my decision," Dean said. "I have a shot here, Sammy. At something normal. Maybe that'll go south and maybe it won't, but I have to take the chance."

"Normal?" Sam's disbelief crowded out his sense of danger. "You call that normal?"

"Well." Dean scratched his head. "As close to it as I'm ever going to get."

"They sold us out. Weren't you listening? This is a trap. They're going to use us. Dean, Cas is not on your side."

"Shut up!" Dean roared, slamming a fist into the doorframe with enough power to rattle the windows one floor above. "You do not know him, Sammy. Not the way I do."

"Then how well do you know his brother?" Sam said.

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders and met his eyes. "Listen to me. Gabriel opened the seal." His voice brimmed with as much darkness as it did urgency. "I saw it. He summoned an angel. I think he called him Raphael. I trapped them, but as soon as the rain puts out the fire, they're coming after me. They're coming after _us._"

He looked behind him. The clouds were already starting to rumble. Real panic crossed his face.

"Sammy, wait." Dean said, his face grave. "Even if what you're telling me is true, there is no way Cas is part of it."

"Then you'd better get your asses over there and see what's what," said the hard voice of Bobby from behind them. Dean turned; Sam peered over his shoulder into the dim front hall.

"Raphael is an archangel," Bobby went on. "That puts him at about a zillion power levels above your average angel. If your friend Castiel isn't involved with this, he could likely be in danger too. Either way, you go over there, you find out for sure what's going on. You stay here, you're sitting ducks."

Dean was still shaking his head. "I don't believe it. There's no way Gabriel would sell out his own brother."

"Dean," Sam said quietly. "The whole story is about angels turning on each other. Brothers turning on each other."

Dean frowned and glared silently at his own feet.

Sam stepped up into the doorframe, meeting him face to face. "That's what they want us to do," he said. "Just for once, let's not give them the satisfaction. Let's go find out the truth. If Cas has betrayed you, don't you want to know it?"

He got a look and something that might have been a nod.

"And if he hasn't," Sam added, "if he is in trouble, I want to help him, too."

  
As Sam had said, the rain had come. The fire had muted, but it was still blazing, and as Raphael paced impatiently back and forth, Gabriel sat against the wall of the barn, staring at his hands. "Maybe this was a mistake," he muttered.

Raphael stopped and cocked his head at him. "How can you say that?" His voice was deep and rich with conviction. "This is the right thing. There is no question."

Gabriel looked at him balefully. "But maybe there is. You're right, you know. I don't hate him. But after all this... he might hate me. Castiel, too."

"I must admit, brother, I am surprised." Raphael was a towering figure in Heaven; even now, in the body he wore, he stood over Gabriel like a predator, casting a long, black shadow tinged with red. "You were never one to care what others thought of you. You made that abundantly clear."

"You don't know--" Gabriel started, then cut himself off.  He waved a hand wearily. "Never mind."

A lopsided smile of amusement lit Raphael's face, then disappeared again. "Brother," he said. "Never mind all that. This was always going to happen. It's not our place to question."

"Heh. Tell Castiel that."

Raphael's brow furrowed. "It seems that Castiel has been more of a hindrance than a help to you."

Alarmed, Gabriel got to his feet. "Raphael..."

"Gabriel." The rich tone would brook no interruption. Raphael's eyes, dark and full, bored into Gabriel's. "You could have taken both of those boys yourself and persuaded them to say yes. Marched back home to heaven victorious. But you couldn't bring yourself to do it, could you? That's why you called me. You need someone to do your dirty work for you, and I'm more than happy to assist."

"Back home to heaven?" The phrase fell heavy and strange from Gabriel's lips.

Raphael put a weighty hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Trust me, Gabriel. I'll take care of everything."

With that, the rain finally hissed out the binding circle, and Raphael flickered off into the distance. Gabriel remained, his eyes turning at last to the dying fire, rain cascading over his hair and features. "Back home to heaven," he murmured, turning over the words as though they had never been spoken before.

  
Castiel had three angel food cakes in the oven, nearly done, and he was sitting on a small black chair by the oven, just watching their crowns float over the crest of the baking pans. To Gabriel, angel food cake was a bad joke, but to Castiel it was everything buoyant and light, like hope, like magic, like the chance that he and Dean could build a life together here among the ovens and bright South Dakota mornings.

A tapping sounded at the back door, and rising from his chair, Castiel very nearly floated toward the noise. It was Dean outside, he was sure. He'd told Sam their plans, and now he was here, to begin their forever.

Except it wasn't him. It was a dark face curled into a sneer.

Castiel stared at Raphael for a moment, then drew the curtains tight. "Gabriel!" he called.

No answer came from upstairs. There was no Gabriel in the house. Just Raphael, and by the time Castiel had turned around, he was inside. The coals in the oven went to ash. The lights flickered and shorted out.

"You've been a very naughty boy, Castiel," Raphael said. His vessel's teeth flashed briliant white even in the dark.

Castiel stood firm. "What do you want, brother?"

Raphael ignored him. "A very, very naughty boy. Some might even say, a traitor."

Castiel didn't make it across the short distance to the knife lying sharp and loose on the counter. Raphael opened his hands, thrust them forward, and Castiel was tossed like a splash of water against the back cabinets. His head hit the wood, his jawbone clattering against the ironwork knobs, and he cried out in pain. Raphael advanced, glided rather than walked, across the floor toward him. Castiel took a deep, strangled breath, feeling cold air seep into his lungs. Everything hurt. He summoned up his power and willed it forward toward Raphael.

The blast of power barely even knocked Raphael back a pace. His essence, glowing bright heavenly white, dispersed the attack into a thousand wisps of impotent light. Castiel gasped. His next blast rattled the walls and shook Castiel's bones within his vessel's body. He screamed, a sharp shout of physical and celestial pain.

"I've never liked you, Castiel," Raphael said. "You've always had such a cushy job. Never any appreciation for those of us who had to do all the real work."

Another blast sent Castiel's teeth biting into his jaw, brought up a thin line of blood that spilled forward from his lips.

Raphael's grin was bloodcurdling. "I'm really rather glad that you betrayed us. This gives me an excuse." Castiel squeezed his eyes shut. Raphael closed the gap by another pace. "I'm going to enjoy this."

"The hell you are."

Raphael turned sharply and Castiel's eyes flew open just in time to see bright white light flood the room.

The spell was written in red blood gone white, still burning with the power of the magic it summoned. Raphael had vanished. A gash split the skin of Dean's arm, his hand pressed against the symbol, and his other hand clutched an equally bloody knife.

"Come with me if you want to live," he quipped.

Castiel looked at him blankly.

Dean rolled his eyes. Behind him, Sam burst in through the door. "I'm finished," he said, recapping the flask of holy oil. Then, catching sight of Castiel: "Oh, shit."

Venturing forward, Dean pulled Castiel from the cabinet, slinging one arm around his shoulders. "It's kind of funny," he said. "I came here to find out if you'd been lying to me. But I'm the one who's been lying to you. This whole time."

"I don't---" Castiel shook his head and fell limp.

Dean sagged with the sudden weight. "Aw, geez. Sammy! Little help here!"

Through his dimming consciousness, Castiel felt Sam's hands come up to help support him. He heard Dean muttering, "Sorry about this," in his ear. But Dean was here. Castiel couldn't feel sorry about that in the slightest.

  
"So you are slayers of demons?"

Dean chuckled at the question. "That makes us sound kinda Buffy. We're _hunters_."

Castiel was looking a little better, but his eyes kept focusing and unfocusing, like he was fading in and out. Woozy, he clutched his head. "And you say it was Gabriel who broke the binding seal?"

"'Fraid so." Sam turned back from the window where he'd . "I know he's your brother and all, but..."

"You're certain?"

Castiel's eyes held Sam's for unsettlingly long. It made Dean twitchy. "Look, dude, you think Sam is making this shit up?"

"No. No, I'm sure he's telling the truth." Dismay darkened Castiel's features. "Gabriel has-- he's changed."

"Ayuh, if by changed you mean turned into a murdering psycho."

"Dean!" Two voices in unison. Dean shrugged.

"He was the one who always wanted me to wait." Castiel's voice was clear and low. "I was ready to turn you both over when you first appeared. But Gabriel told me to wait. He said, take your time. And if he hadn't, I never would have..."

He leaned forward and grabbed Dean's hand, entwined their fingers. Sam groaned. "Oh, God, please just skip that part."

Castiel ignored him. "But ever since that, he's changed. I think... I think he might have envied me."

"Of what?" Dean frowned. "Dude, he's your brother. He should have wanted you to be happy, right? Unless he..." He swallowed. "Crap, you don't think he had the hots for me, do you?"

"No!" The same unison.

The unsettling quiet that followed was Dean's first clue. The second was Castiel's eyes, wide and staring at Sam. Dean followed his gaze. "Sammy," he said, not sure he wanted the answer, "why are you turning red?"

Sam was silent. He averted his eyes.

"Oh, hell, no."

"Look," Sam said halfheartedly, "I didn't--"

Dean scowled. "Listen. There's only room for one gay Winchester in the family. You got that?"

"To be fair," Castiel piped up, "our gender is an entirely human construct and could be easily changed."

"What?" Dean nearly fell off the couch. "Couldn't you have told me this before we---"

"I was not aware we were going to end up in a romantic relationship." Castiel's expression was somewhere between embarassment and amusement. His lips kept twitching. "Would you like me to--"

"No, no, now I'm used to you. _Damn_ it!"

Sam laughed. Hard. Dean gave him a death glare.

"Anyway." Castiel was quick to change the subject. "He won't be gone for long. We need a plan."

"A plan? What can we do against him? He's an archangel."

"So's Gabriel."

"Yes, but Gabriel's the one who narced on you, remember?"  
   
"Even so, he is still my brother." Castiel struggled to his feet. Dean rushed forward to steady him, but his stance was solid. "I can try to contact him. But I won't do it here. I need to go someplace else. That way, if he brings Raphael with him, you won't be caught in the crossfire."

"Are you crazy? Raphael wants to kill you."

Castiel's voice was as clear as his gaze. "But Gabriel doesn't. I'm sure of that much. if it's just me, Gabriel won't allow him to hurt me."

Dean grumbled and stepped back. "All right. Just... get back here quickly, okay?" He raised his hand to draw a finger across Castiel's lips. Castiel nodded gravely, and his hand covered Dean's on his mouth. For a short moment, there was no sound in the room.

Then Castiel drew back. He stood in the center of the room and looked intently at some point beyond the door. His gaze sharpened. He braced himself. And he waited.

It was a second before Dean was sure something was wrong. "Dude. What are you..."

"Trying to teleport. It's not working." Castiel's eyes quavered with puzzlement. "I'm being bound. I don't--"

"Hey," said Sam, reaching out an arm to touch Dean's shoulder. "Do you guys... smell something?"

  


  
Holy oil burned clear and fierce, a circular blaze that would not be put out. And Raphael had added his own fire to the mix, which meant the holy binding ring was free to spread, to destroy and to grow to the extent that even the rain couldn't stop it. As he watched from just outside, the Baking Angel's sign, the cherub and the croissants, blazed into charred wood and fell loose of its moorings, clattering to the ground as a blackened lump. Inside, wooden counters and chairs caught fire with a series of loud pops. As the fire spread, jugs of cooking oil combusted with puffs of flame like small bombs. Raphael chuckled, the proud laugh of a job well done. He felt Gabriel's presence and, without turning to him, smiled broadly. "Isn't it magnificent?" he said. "Don't worry, your precious Vessels are safe on the second floor. They don't know that, but--"

It was as far as he got before Gabriel slugged him.

Blindsided, toppling, Raphael hit the grass with a loud thud. He had only time enough to stare blankly up before Gabriel was on him, swinging wildly, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Brother-- wait!" he tried to cry out, but Gabriel was lost to reason, pummelling him with fierce fists as the Baking Angel burned, its flame turning his face to red-orange planes and shadowed blacks.

"Bastard!" he shouted. "You're no better than the rest of them!"

Raphael fell backward. The pavement scraped against his back, tearing the flesh of his elbows where he connected with it.

"Nobody said you could go after Castiel! Nobody!" One fist after another smacked Raphael's face, wet slapping sounds echoing against the backdrop of the fire's roar. Raphael choked. The blood of his human flew from his mouth. Red spattered on the dark olive gray of pavement. "I never told you you could touch him! My home..."

Raphael roared back at him, grabbing Gabriel by the arms. "Heaven is your home, Gabriel! Have you forgotten this much?"

The words stilled Gabriel long enough for Raphael to throw him off. A few stumbling steps and Gabriel regained his balance, leaning forward with vicious frustration in his eyes. "You betrayed me, brother."

"Betrayed you? Who is betraying whom here?" A bitter laugh lurked behind Raphael's tone. "Who is breaking the promise he made thirty years ago?"

Gabriel was silent. His fists curled into hard lumps of flesh, and he breathed hard. The fire cast an orange glow onto his face.

"Don't you get it, Gabriel?" Raphael went on. "You've broken. You're soft. There was no way you'd let me have the Vessels. In the end, you'd always be on Castiel's side. I had to destroy this false home you've built. Now you have no choice but return to your true home--"

He didn't get any further. Gabriel was on him again, his fists flying, tears spilling from his eyes and catching the firelight until they looked like drops of crystalline blood.

As he wept and punched, the rain became a torrent worthy of a hurricane. Even the enchanted holy oil began to dim, and the flames sputtered and died in in the night as Gabriel wailed away at Raphael's prone form.

Blinded by rage as he was, he didn't see the fire die. Nor did he see the light in the mournful eyes of the angel with outstretched hands, or the two who watched in slack-jawed amazement as Castiel closed his fist and the rain died down again. Gabriel missed it all. The first he knew was that a hand had caught his wrist.

"I get it," Sam said. His voice was quiet, patient. "You really are Dorothy. You just want to go home."

Anger resurfaced inside him. Gabriel shook off Castiel's grip and whipped around to snap at Sam. "I don't know what the hell you're--"

"You finally found a home," Sam said. "After running away from Heaven, after living on Earth for God knows how long, you finally find a place where you belong. And just when you think everything's going to be okay, you lose it all."

Gabriel had frozen. The flames had fizzled into fast-dissipating black smoke, revealing the charred skeleton of a shop. The second floor sat pristine and unburned above the blackened walls.

Sam's gaze was steady on Gabriel, and his eyes were clouded with tears. "It all goes up in flames, and there's no rhyme or reason to it. So you start burning bridges. You think maybe, if you're the one to destroy it, maybe it'll hurt less than when it's taken from you. It won't. I swear to God, it won't."

Behind him, Castiel and Dean had joined hands and were gazing at him somberly. The three pairs of eyes on Gabriel felt like a million, and his head dropped, trying to shake off their heat. He couldn't find a way out of this. He wanted to crumble into the earth.

"I lost mine too," Sam said. "I had a girl I loved, I had a future. I lost it all. But now I've got Dean, and..." He paused. "I don't know how to say this. The point is, it's not where you are that's home."

A little gasp came from Gabriel's mouth, and he stood. Slowly.

Sam held out his hand. "You could... you could come with us," he muttered shyly.

Gabriel's eyes met his. He reddened.

That's when Raphael grabbed him and pulled him down.

Sam shouted and rushed forward, but Raphael didn't even have to blink, just look at him, and Sam was being thrown across the sidewalk, landing against a parked car with a thud. Dean cried out his name. Castiel sprang into action, fire flaring from his palms and bolting in arrows toward Raphael's face, but they, too, were turned around. The interruptions ended, Raphael pulled Gabriel close by his collar and lifted him into the air.

"Castiel, run," Gabriel gasped. "Get away from here." Raphael closed his fist around Gabriel's throat. "Hurry!" he choked out with his last bits of breath.

"You know," Raphael said, cocking his head in a way that seemed out of joint for the body he was wearing, "I'd really thought when you called me that you'd learned your lesson. Gained back a proper respect for the workings of heaven."

"I--" Gabriel tried to drag in air through the bare space allowed him. "I do, man. I did. I'm on your side in this."

"You lie." Raphael squeezed harder.

Gabriel clawed at the air, scraped, kicked. "Swear! Look, they're.. ungh... they're getting away. Look, I'm sorry I got pissed at you, but... hello, Vessels, escaping, now?"

Raphael let him go. Gabriel dropped a full foot to the ground, skinned one knee on the pavement and hissed. "Hurry up!" he said, his eyes trained on the receding figures of Castiel, Dean and Sam. "Get after them!"

One more suspicious look, and Raphael sped up, leaving him behind.

"Sucker," muttered Gabriel.

He muttered a word in an ancient language and thrust his hand forward. Raphael turned just in time for his surprised face to register in front of Gabriel's eyes. Then the light was upon him. At the other end of the sidewalk, Castiel whirled. He spoke an answering phrase, and power poured forth from his palms, too.

Raphael shrieked as his form was enveloped in white. The whole block went incandescent, brilliant as the surface of the sun.

Then it was gone, and so was Raphael. The rain puddled in the cracks beneath the sidewalk where he'd been.

  
The Baking Angel was beyond repair. Every piece of furniture, every barrel of flour and every spice and frosting had gone up in the blaze. Only the skeleton of the place stood intact, just barely holding up the mysteriously pristine second floor. A crowd was starting to gather in the rain as the two sets of brothers returned to the remains of their longtime haunt.

"This town isn't safe anymore," Gabriel said as they wandered into the ruined kitchen. The door, at least, still shut the crowds out behind them. "We have to go."

Sam moved toward him. "Wait. We?"

"Idiot. You're the one who invited me along."

Sam smiled. Gabriel flushed. Dean let the silence go on for as long as he could stand, then snorted loudly. It was enough to bring Gabriel back to himself. "Besides," he said with a grimace, "you can't hide without me. We need to stay one step ahead of them."

"Does that mean you--" It was Castiel's voice.

Gabriel nodded. "Come here, Castiel."

Castiel obeyed, and Gabriel reached out an arm to pressed his palm to Castiel's forehead. A light glowed just barely, dimly, against his brow. Castiel shuddered, head to toe. Then the light and the convulsion were over. Castiel looked no different, but his expression was relieved, and he whispered a low thank-you.

Sam and Dean were sharing a confused look when Gabriel beckoned to them. "Your turn."

It felt like something was worming its way into their bodies. It wiggled through them, snakelike, burrowed into them, and faded away.  Dean felt utterly unchanged. He looked down at himself. "What the hell?"

"Enochian sigils," Castiel said. "They will hide us from angels and demons alike. We'll still have to stay moving, though. And be careful."

Dean chuckled. "That's kind of what we've been doing our whole life. But why'd he zap you, too?"

"He's the only one who can."

"So you're..." His hand, trembling, grabbed Castiel's. "You're gonna come with us?"

"It's gonna be a full house in that car," Gabriel said with a smirk. "Can you handle it?"

Dean broke into a grin. "Only if you bring snacks."

Castiel withdrew his hand and rounded the counter. Against the wall, next to the still-smoking countertops, stood the industrial-strength oven, a fat block of gray coated with ash and charcoal from the fire's wrath. With tender hands he pulled the door open, and uttered a small noise of triumph at what he found there.

He lifted his hands. Balanced on each palm was one round, full angel food cake. "For the road," he declared with a full, pleased smile.

"Kept safe from a fire by hiding in an oven," Gabriel said. "I'm impressed."

"What, no pie?" Dean said.

Sam slapped him. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean answered automatically. "That's girly cake."

"Dean!" Castiel's voice was reproachful. Sam laughed. The twin halos of the angel food cakes shone golden brown in the dim light.

  
The cakes ended up wedged in that tiniest of spaces between passenger side and driver's side, right behind the coffee cup holders, where both front and back seat dwellers could get to them.

Gabriel would have eaten the whole thing if Castiel had let him, but after a few handfuls Gabriel got a slap to the back of his hand. Still, he kept sneaking bits, as did Sam, and after a few hours on the road, even Dean started munching on the stuff.

"Girly cake," Sam reminded him.

"Sh'dupp. Hungry."

"So, honey bunchkins, where to?" Gabriel draped himself over the back of the front seat, nuzzling Sam, who'd frozen with embarrassment.

"Murderers in South Carolina carving up the victims," Dean rattled off from memory. "Police say it looks like bear attacks, but they went straight for the hearts and left everything else intact."

"Sounds delightful," Gabriel said. "You know, we could just take a vacation. Tahiti? Antarctica? Anywhere on earth is our pleasure."

Sam turned his head to smile at him, a rueful smile that took Gabriel's words away. "That's not who we are. We don't relax. We keep moving. It's actually kind of suited to being fugitives from heavenly justice."

"There's a long tradition of wanderers doing good works," Castiel piped up. "Some of them were on the run as well. It's a good paradigm to follow."

"'Zactly," Dean affirmed, with a hunk of cake stuffed in his mouth. "Maybe we can't run forever, but we can sure as hell run right now."

Gabriel smirked from the back seat. "And isn't it fun."

The car rocketed along, sunset smoldering in the rear view mirror. The world wouldn't end today, and that was good enough for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful art you have seen throughout the chapters is by bumblee. Thank you humblee, bumblee!
> 
> Thank you to my betas, zoeycleybourne and pandatini, and all of you who offered to beta and reminded me you wanted to see this sucker finished. You kept me going and trying.
> 
> And a very special thanks to partofthequeue2, who first offered the prompt on comment_fic that became a drabble that eventually became The Baking Angel. This wouldn't exist without you. THANK YOU.


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